Endless
by Mrs. Alex Kurosaki
Summary: In a world filled with Mutants, Superheroes, and Villains two girls must find out which side they belong on. While back in a world filled with Gods and Magic, Loki's punishment doesn't go exactly as planned.. (Future—possible—name change) **Authors: Trixy BuenaSuerte; AlexC**
1. Prelude

Notes:

 **Quick heads up to all readers!**

 _ **Slash has being introduced to this story on a last minute decision!**_  
For those of you not interested in this type of fandom we are deeply sorry and ask that you press the back button before you read something you might not like.  
For those that are, go ahead and read on but it won't be explicit so don't get your hopes up.  
Or, it just might, we haven't decided yet. We'll let you know. _(We'll change the rating if we do decided to so watch out for that)_

* * *

 _Gold._

Its spread as far as the eye can see, covering anything and everything—the guards are covered from head to toe in it, the stairs are paved with it, and the throne of the All-Father is carved from it. So much of the beautiful gold only serves to make its abundance displeasing to the eye and yet oddly enchanting. It makes what few colors there are in the room stand out. The red of Thor's cape is almost painful to the eyes after so much gold but Loki holds back the glare he wants to aim at his ' _brother'_ and stares straight ahead as the guards drag him into the painfully gold room by his bound hands.

 _They should really consider redecorating._

All eyes in the room are immediately locked onto him as he's pushed and pulled towards the throne but he ignores them and allows a smirk to grace his lips as he stares up at Odin, _the All-Father_ —not that anyone can see it under the muzzle covering his mouth. It's to keep him from spreading his lies and Loki wants to roll his eyes at the thought that a simple muzzle will stop him. Sure, they have him at their mercy now but soon they'll be begging _him_ for forgiveness.

 _And I'll give them death._

He's feels like laughing even as he's shoved roughly to his knees once he reaches the golden steps and he knows his eyes show his amusement when Odin's one eye glares down at him from his golden throne. _Fucking gold._ He's a sight to see with his arms tied behind his back, his hair a tangled mess and his ill fitting robes barely clinging to his malnourished body—once proud and regal, he's now a disheveled mess—and he knows he really shouldn't be as arrogant as he's being but he can't bring himself to care.

 _Haven't been able to for a long time, actually._

He's riding on a weird high, brought from near starvation and not enough sleep—the prison is nowhere near comfortable for real sleep and the food is inedible—mixed in with apprehension and giddiness. He's been waiting for this day since he was captured in Midgard and brought back to Asgard. The day that the All-Father will bring his punishment upon him and he can't wait to see just what the almighty All-Father will do to his adopted son.

 _Will it be death?_

Loki's not afraid of death, he never has been and when Odin rises from his throne, Loki doesn't bow his head or attempt to hide his amusement, he simply raises one elegant brow. The giddiness increases and his body begins to tingle all over—he's fucking shaking in anticipation like one of those Midgardian creatures with the constantly wagging tails. It's completely odd to feel this way—down right insane—Loki knows this and he wonders if the whole reason he's so excited about this is because he's so tired of simply staring at the plain white walls of his cell.

 _It's the most stimulation I've had in months._

He lets his eyes wander around the room and once again the vibrant red of Thor's cape draws his gaze though he tries to pretend he's not looking. He ends up catching Thor's eyes from the corner of his though and it only serves to deepen his smirk. If Loki looked like an excited Midgard creature then Thor looks like one that's just been kicked. His eyes are filled with pain and sadness and fear and it makes the tingles in Loki's body stronger.

 _Oh, you, brother of mine, will pay the highest price of all._

He holds Thor's eyes for only a few seconds before they're drawn away by the Frigga's baby blue robes and suddenly he doesn't want to be here. He wants to be miles away from the throne room or in his cold white cell. Hell, he'd even take Midgard because the look on Frigga's gentle face chases away his high and makes him feel like someone's dumped cold water over his head. He fights to keep his eyes looking amused even as his smirks falls as he turns to look at Odin again and away from Frigga's anguished expression as she clings to Thor.

 _She's nothing to me now. She never was._

"Loki Odinson…"

Odin begins and Loki tenses as he feels hands in his hair before the straps of his muzzle loosens and it clatters to the floor in front of him. As soon as he feels the muzzle being pulled away he lets out a dark, humorless chuckle and forces his smirk back onto his lips. His high may be gone but Loki refuses to show that the situation affects him in anyway. And now that he can talk again there's no reason to hold his tongue.

"It's Laufeyson, Odin."

His voice is hoarse from disuse but even scratchy and cracking his words have the desired effect. Gasps ring around the room and Loki can feel his old mischievousness fill him as the sound caresses his ears like a lullaby. "Surely, you of all would know or has your memory been faulting as of late?" he taunts without meaning to, or caring for that matter, but he can't hold back his laughter even as the guards standing over him strikes him and he collapses onto the ground.

"Stay your tongue Loki before I have it cut off."

Odin's voice rings out like the snap of whip and many flinch as it resonates around the room but not Loki. No, Loki's high has come back harder than before making his body tingle all over and his head spin from the lack air while he crackles like a mad man. It's not his fault he looks like a lunatic. Hell, between starvation, sleep deprivation, and isolation it really should have been expected.

 _Maybe it was the goal._

"You, Loki, have gone against your King and your people. You have waged war against an innocent realm and cut short many lives simply on whim. You are unworthy of this realm…" With each word, Odin has taken a step closer and when he's no more than a foot away the guards yank Loki back onto his knees by his hair. The last four words are familiar and Loki struggles to remember where he's heard them before through the haze in his mind.

"Unworthy of your title…"

 _It's still considered my title when I have no claim to it?_

Odin towers over him now and Loki's head is craned back by the hand still clutching his hair when he refuses to look up. Odin's blue eye burns into his and he somehow manages a smirk at him.

"Unworthy of the loved ones you betrayed."

 _Loved ones? Oh, no—_

He's heard these lines before, he's sure of it and panic fills him when he realizes what the next words will be.

"I hereby take your powers from you."

 _Fool!_

Loki wants to scream and yell but the room has begun to spin in earnest now as he feels the magic coursing through his veins slip away. It starts at his fingertips—not that Loki can see them since they're behind his back but he can feel them become colder—and as slowly as the magic is being swept from him, his skin is tainted blue. He sags in the grip of the guards as what's left of his strength is taken along with his power even as he tries to warn them.

Sure Loki's not afraid of death and he probably never will be but it doesn't mean he wishes for it and, for as much as he hates that they lied to him, he knows Frigga will hurt if he dies. His attempts to speak are useless though because as more of his skin becomes blue, his mind becomes muddle and he can't tell them that they're killing him. The magic—what little was left with him after his imprisonment—has been the only thing holding him together and as his body drops limply to the ground he knows the veil has been removed.

He looks ten times worse now that the magic isn't covering his true appearance, isn't forcing his body to keep going. He's nothing but a pile of blue skin and brittle bones at Odin's feet. There's nothing left to him, no meat after months of starvation and his body is litter with bruises and lacerations. His robes have slipped off his too thin body and he knows everyone can see the cuts and scares and bruises littering his back when shock gasps resonate around the room.

He doesn't know when he closed his eyes but he can't bring himself to open them, he doesn't have the strength too and suddenly all he's aware of is the beat of his heart as it slows. He can't feel the touch of frantic hands on him, or the heat of strong arms as they wrap around his body and lift him easily—so easily that it only increases the panic of the person holding him—from the cool golden floor.

He also can't hear the shouts of anger as Frigga releases her rage on the All-Father.

Mayhem has been released because of him but he can't enjoy it, he's too busy chasing the beat of his heart into the dark abyss.

One that he enters all too happily.

* * *

End Note: Unfortunately, this site doesn't let you tag like AO3 does, so just to let you guys know, all the other Avengers are involved in this story. Also, this is set Post-Avengers (2012) and Pre-Thor 2. Because of the nature of the story, there will be a canon divergence as well.

For those of you who like to know the ships, the pairings are as follow: Loki/Original Female Character; Loki/Ember; Steve Rogers/Original Female Character; Steve Rogers/Marina; Bruce Banner/Betty Ross; Jane Foster/Thor; Frigga/Odin; Pepper Potts/Tony Stark; Clint Barton/Phil Coulson

We hope you all enjoy this work!


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 **September 10th**

 _ **Philosophy 10, Copper Campus**_

 _ **Seattle, Washington**_

 _ **10:28 am**_

 _ **Marina**_

"What is reality?"

Well that's simple. Reality is—um, reality is…it is?

 _What_ is _reality?_

"Reality is what is real," a voice chimes in and the whole class turns as one towards the speaker. "What's true," Stephanie says with cool confidence, basking in the feeling of having the attention of the whole class.

"Well, there are many mysteries in the world," Mrs. Rivera counters, an almost smug smile on her lips as she stands in front of the class. It seems she was expecting someone to make this point because, suddenly, the screen in the front of the class lights up with such mysteries.

"Take, for example, the Bermuda Triangle—that one legendary expanse of ocean where pilots often tell of instruments going haywire and where _numerous_ ships have been lost at sea. Is it all just one giant coincidence? Or could the reports of alien abductions truly be real? And if it isn't how do we know? How do we tell what's truly, beyond any possibility of doubt, real?

"Do you know what's real?" she asks and the student she's pointing at shakes his head vehemently. "Well, then how does anybody? Take a second and think about that," she says and walks back to her desk, heels clicking all the way.

Well, what's true is supported by concrete evidence and our senses. Sight, touch, taste, smell, and sound, these are the tools we use to prove what's real. If we see it, it's real. If we feel, it it's real. But what if we feel it but don't see? What if we _see_ it but can't _feel_ it?

What if our senses are betraying us but we don't _know_?

Case and point, schizophrenic people.

They can feel phantom pains that are as real to them as they would be to us if we were injured. They can see some of the most vivid hallucinations and never even begin to doubt that what they're seeing isn't real. It's their senses—they're telling them these things are real even when they aren't.

 _That's it!_

It takes a tremendous amount of effort to keep from bouncing in my seat as I wait to speak until the teacher turns her attention back to the class. It's the perfect answer, I know it is. Reality is all about perspective!

"Anyone come up with an answer yet?"

"I think it depends on a person's perspective," I say before anyone can speak. "Um, for example, to someone who's an atheist—"

 _'Should I bring it up?_ ' I wonder. I already started though, so I can't back out now.

"Yeah, to someone who's an Atheist, the stories in the Bible are just myths. But to someone with a strong faith, these stories are true and God is real," I speak. I feel confident when I finish because I'm sure I didn't make it too pro or against religion.

A silence falls after my words and continues long after I fall silent as everyone processes my words.

 _Shoot... Did I mess up? I hope I didn't light a canon._

"If God is real," someone finally says and I send my thanks to her as she pulls the class's attention from the awkward silence. "Then why does he let so many bad things happen in the world, huh? Why do people steal, rape, and murder?" Normally quiet Lisa suddenly asks and the emotion in her voice clearly states her bitterness over the topic.

 _That's not what I meant, at all._

It takes many of us by surprise since Lisa doesn't usually participate in discussions and the fierceness in her voice is not hidden. But the moment is soon ruined and I can practically _hear_ eyes rolling in everyone's heads as Jane, the annoying _"religious"_ girl, gets up to speak. .

I can also hear everyone mentally questioning why I thought to bring religion into this.

"Because it has to happen," she says, disdain clear in her voice. "We have a fate that we're supposed to fulfill, so if something bad happens along the way, deal with it. You don't really have free will."

 _Okay, wow!_

Really, Jane, that's kind of harsh. There are so many different ways to say that without coming off like a jerk. Whatever happened to ' _so you can grow and learn,'_ or even the good old, _'things happen for a reason,'?_ It may, basically, insinuate that we don't have much of a choice to begin with but to just out right saying we don't have free will?

 _You're just asking for atheists to jump done your throat._

"God isn't choosing what I do in my life, I am," Lisa says passionately and with those words the class descends into a religious debate.

With a sigh I make sure my audio recorder is on.

I may have brought religion into this but I really don't feel up to listening to a religious debate. And as much as I want to walk out since it looks like this might go on for awhile (what with the professor egging Lisa on to challenge someone else's perception of reality) I can't—and I need the notes—so after checking my recorder I just tune them out.

Still…

 _What is real?_

And what is reality?

This table and chair and the pen in my hand all feel real. So what about the crystal clear liquid running through my body? The one I can feel flowing through my veins and caressing my skin even if I can't actually _see_ it?

I may not see it but it's true that it's there—even if it's not always in my thoughts—so how do I know if it's really real?

How do I know the flames are real? The ones I've _seen_ spring forward—ooze out of pale skin like sweat—and destroy everything around it. The ones I _know_ run through Ember's veins though the only concrete evidence I have is the destruction they leave behind?

 _That_ makes me wonder.

Though whether no one else sees it or believes it, _that_ is most definitely a part of _my_ reality.

Thoughts of flames and liquid bring " _Operation: Become Heroes"_ to mind. It'd be pretty cool if Ember agreed with my idea right off the bat, but I know she won't. That fire of hers...it's made her cautious but I'm sure, with the right plan, I can convince her to go along with it.

And then we can be just like _Rizzoli and Isles_!

 _Or maybe even like Captain America and Iron Man._

 _ **PetSmart**_

 _ **Seattle, Washington**_

 _ **1:02 pm**_

 _ **Ember**_

 _"When I'm gone~, When I'm gone~, You're gonna miss me when I'm gone~."_

It's a soft hum, soothing to the ears and I don't dare to sing louder as I ring up the costumer in front of me. Their eyes are glued to me as I scan their items and I know they can hear me but it doesn't stop me from singing.

 _"You're gonna miss me by my walk~, you're gonna miss me by my talk~, oh~, You're gonna miss me_ —That'll be $39.47."

The customer, a teenage girl, actually jerks as I abruptly cut off my singing. A blush coats her cheeks as she realizes she's been caught staring and she fumbles with her wallet for her money. I don't comment or call her out on it though and just take the money she offers.

Humans stare; it's just what we do and I can't be mad about it, especially if I'm deliberately drawing their attention by singing out loud.

My eyes trail her as she collects her purchase and leaves after I give her change. Even though it's the middle of the day business is slow, oddly slow actually. So as I settle against the counter and wait for another costumer to arrive, I allow my eyes to roam over the empty aisles.

 _"When she was just a girl~, She expected the world~, But it flew away from her reach~"_

My voice is low but it cuts across the empty store and I can hear one of my coworkers humming quietly along as I continue to sing. They've become so accustomed to my near constant singing that they've taken to singing along more often than not.

"So she ran away in her sleep."

The last part isn't sung and I turn towards the person who spoke and spot Damian, the store manager, making his way towards me. I'm just the tiniest bit surprised that someone his age would know the lyrics to _'Paradise by Coldplay'_.

"Ember," he calls when he realizes he has my attention and I nod my head in acknowledgement. He's gripping his clipboard tightly in his hands and when he finally reaches me I let my eyes roam over him.

There's a troubled and anxious look on his face as he seems to contemplate what he's going to say. He's tense and I know he's apprehensive; most people are when it comes to me. I have this way of intimidating them without even trying.

 _It's made getting a job damn near impossible._

"Can you clean out the small animal cages? Tyrone couldn't make it today and they haven't been cleaned since last night," he finally says and I don't give him a verbal response. I just slip out from behind the counter with a nod and make my way to the supply room.

I've been working here for the past six months so Damian knows that's my way of saying yes. I prefer action to talking even though this doesn't fall under my job responsibilities.

Tyrone really needs to get his shit together before I set him on fire.

Odd threat, huh? And no I don't mean that I'm going to douse him in gasoline and hold a Zippo to him. Not that I'm an arsonist or anything. Not that I'm even normal to begin with—well, by human standards anyways. I got this ability that really just shouldn't be possible because it defies the laws of physics and, all in all, sounds completely insane.

 _But in this day and age it_ really _shouldn't._

 _(Let's not forget there's such a thing as the X-Gene running around)_

I can control fire.

Well, not so much as control—nothing can control fire—as I can create it. With less than a flick of my wrist I can light my whole body and everything around me on fire.

I can burst into flames.

It should be impossible, I know, but I can. I've been able to create flames since I was born, in fact I'm the reason my parents are dead.

Hell, I'm the reason a lot of people are.

I couldn't give you a death count even if I tried.

It's a curse, though I'm sure Marina would beg to differ but maybe that's because she's different. Even when compared to me—the abnormal freak—she's different. Her liquid doesn't destroy. She doesn't have to constantly control her temper or risk annihilating everything in a four mile radius.

Hell, she doesn't even _have_ a temper.

"Shit, Ember, I'm so sorry."

The voice, full of embarrassment and nervousness, pulls me from my thoughts. I look up, arms full of squealing Guinea Pigs as, Tyrone all but runs to my side. He pants as he stops in front of me but he doesn't wait to catch his breath as he pulls a squirming pig from my arms before depositing him in the temporary cage.

"I couldn't get my car to start and I had take to take a cab and they took forever to pick me up," Tyrone babbles on but I ignore it as I hand him the remaining pigs and peel the PetSmart standard apron off, draping it over the cleaning cart. "And when they finally got to my house, we got stuck in traffic and—"

"It's fine, Tyrone," I whisper as I wipe my hands down with sanitizer and straighten my shirt. "Just don't be late anymore or they might really fire you next time," I advise as make my way back to the register. Tyrone shouts his thanks as I leave but I ignore him.

The rest of the day passes in a blur as nothing exciting happens—no bathroom accidents, or dog fights, and—luckily—no one looses an animal on store grounds— _again_. It had been a hell of time trying to catch the damn Guinea Pig and all then there had been all the _squealing._

So before I know it's four o'clock and I'm on my way home, car squeaking and groaning the whole way—so loud that not even the music drowns it out. I'll need to get a new one soon—a car can only hold on for so long and at twenty-five I'm amazed it's held on this long. It needs more repair work than I can afford.

 _This is why you take a car to a mechanic before agreeing to buy it._

Not that I could have a afforded a newer car anyways. Money's tight when you're fresh out of the foster care system and living off minimum wage. It had only been having the foresight to save as much money as I could that I managed to get a car once I turned eighteen and my time in foster care ran out.

After that it had been thanks to Marina's parents that I had somewhere to live. They'd allowed me to live with them until the end of high school and, when Marina and I got the idea to move up to Washington, they'd been fully supportive.

They'd helped as much as they could, both financially and physically. And so now, two years after high school, Marina and I—originally from California—now have our very humble adobe in beautiful Seattle. It's a small house, only has two bedrooms and one bath but it's ours and we love it. Just as we love the city, the peace and quiet, and the woods.

Yes, this is our home.

And when I pull up into the drive way, car groaning all the way, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

 _ **2214 E Spruce St.**_

 _ **Seattle, Washington**_

 _ **4:48 pm**_

 _ **Marina**_

Rain pounds against the roof. Thunder cracks and my history textbook lays forgotten on the coffee table as my attention is snatched completely by scene playing before me. My roommate—and best friend—sits on the couch ignoring both me and the television as she reads her novel.

' _Like it or not, Megamort needs saving. And that's what heroes do!'_

And it's a good thing too or else she surely would have seen the light bulb go off over my head as an idea hits me when the little figure on the television speaks. I can't help but think that my favorite mouse is right.

The world needs saving gosh darn it and I know just the people for the job.

 _'Operation: Convince Ember to Go Along With Operation: Become Heroes" is a go!'_

"We should do that," I tell Ember as the figure and his buddies go off to save their current arch nemesis. She looks up from her book, disinterest written all over her face, to see the image on the television, and gives a slight laugh at what she finds.

"We should save a mouse?"

"No," I grumble as I roll my eyes. Oh, this girl. "We should—"

 _Fight Crime._

 _Beat up bad people._

 _Save the world._

There's so many ways to phrase it and I can't settle for one. My heart begins to pound against my chest the longer I search for the right words because, if I choose the wrong ones, it will end in disaster. Now if only I knew how to use my brain to mouth filter.

"We should save people."

She says nothing but I see her quirk an eyebrow and I can just hear her asking _'Really?'_ in my head. Before she gets a chance to say anything though, I start telling her about the last _'Bones'_ episode I saw. I tell her about the fear that fearless Brennan and confident Hodgins went through. The quick thinking they had to do just to survive.

That they went through a terror so great that Hodgins can't close his eyes without being scared, that every time he does he's afraid of finding himself buried alive again. But most of all, I tell her about the inspiration it filled me with to see them doing it. To see them fighting their demons just to help people.

 _To save people._

I can tell by her expression that she wants to say, _"It's just a show"_ but I'm prepared and speak before she can.

"That's just one show though. Shows like _'Law and Order,' 'Deadly Women,'_ and all those other ones are either based on or are dramatizations of real life! And if they aren't they're just as likely to happen and we should totally help."

She has a look of disbelief on her face as she stares at me but I don't back down. I want her to see what I mean, I want her to understand what this means to me. So I wrack my brain for a way to say it without sounding stupid. Though, I know that when I over think stuff it comes out horrible, so I choose to just speak instead.

To speak from the heart.

"Em, you and I, we have a gift. A gift that shouldn't be wasted. We have the opportunity to stop real people like the _'Grave Digger.'_ We can stop serial killers and murderers and rapists. We can help people actually feel safe in their homes! It's against our duty to _not_ do anything with this."

She grits her teeth for a second and then speaks, "Marina, how many people honestly think about this? Most people always think, _'Wow, that's horrible!'_ when something bad happens and they see it on TV, but they never think _'Oh my god, that's going to happen to me!'_ "

"Yeah, but a lot think _'that could've been me'_ or get scared to go in an area where something bad happened. You remember my aunt Mimi? She heard that a guy was assaulted in his car, really close to my parents' house, and then she refused to visit us for _months_! And I know she's not alone in this _'something bad is going to happen to me'_ mentality _._ "

"Marina, no."

"But, Em—"

"No, I won't do it," she says and I watch as she dives back into her book without another word, officially ending the conversation. Outside thunder cracks again and lighting flashes as I frown at her.

I want to keep pushing, to convince her that it would be great for us to do this together but I know that if I keep asking now it'll only upset her so I go back to my own book instead. It's her decision after all.

I know it is and I'm trying to understand her, I really I am but I don't get. Ember's a nice person—pays the bills on time, works all day, always polite to even the most annoying customers, but she's lived a hard life.

An orphan usually does so why doesn't want to help others? Why doesn't she want to keep others from suffering like she did? She lived it and she's turned out to be a good person, so why doesn't she want to help others?

"Why?"

I keep my voice low. It's almost a whisper, but just an octave higher because I'm too damn stubborn for my own good to back down. I can feel her gaze on me but I don't look up even as I hear her sigh and place her book down on the coffee table. All I can do is hold my breath as I wait for an answer.

Thunder continues to clash outside and the rain doesn't look like it's going to stop anytime soon, but not even that or the voices blaring out from the television drown out her warning.

"We'll freeze."

Finally with an answer—and one I didn't expect—I can't help but let out a loud, "Ha!"

After all, I know for a fact that won't be the case.

"Of course we won't. You never freeze; you always have some genius plan up your sleeve. And as for me, you know my mom had me in self-defense classes since I was little."

The tournaments may have been absolute hell but I got to say that I loved the results.

"Marina Ramirez, when you think about going out there, in the middle of the night, what do you see? Do you see us kicking butt and taking names? Do you see stars and rainbows and confetti falling from the sky? Well, let me tell you something. It won't be like that. There'll be pain and regret and fear. And when someone points a gun your way what will you do?"

She pauses, obviously waiting for a reply but I don't have one and she knows it.

"You should count yourself lucky," Ember says as she picks her book back up, point made. "Your mother made you take those classes just _'in case'_ you found yourself in a tough situation. So thank god you didn't have to learn through experience. You've never seen how hard life really is out there, Mar. I know you've gone through some of your own troubles, but I doubt they've prepared you for anything you want us to do. It's not pretty out there."

"Ember, we can do this!" I exclaim desperate to convince her that this is a good idea. I can see she's getting irritated, and though I don't mean to, I can feel myself getting irritated too. I mean, I know how to fight. I know how to defend myself! I'm not a dumb little kid, and I can most certainly help others in tough situations too.

Why won't she let me prove it to her?

A rumbling starts, the rain begins to pelt the windows, and suddenly I can _feel_ the water. It courses under my skin, flows throw my veins, and crashes against my bones in giant, violent waves.

 _'Shit...'_

"Marina!" Ember scolds, instantly aware of what's going on but I can't do anything to stop it even as glass rattles threateningly or as it shatters. Water goes everywhere, splashing our clothes, the couch, and my books but, even though it's ruined them, it's helps to calm me down.

"No, Guppers!"

Ember's cries startle me as she dives towards the now ruined fish tank. Though I don't wait too long to shoot towards the kitchen and grab a cup of water before racing back.

"Shit, shit, shit. I can't find Guppies or Guppina," Ember curses as she drops the red fish into the cup and goes back to searching for the other two missing fish.

"Okay, okay, give me a second," I say as I put the cup down and help her search. Its tough going though because their coloring makes them blend in with the wooden flooring and by the time we find them it's too late for Guppina.

"I'm so sorry, Ember," I whisper, fish lying still in my palm as I bring her to Ember. "I didn't mean to do it," I continue as I pass the poor fish over.

Ember says nothing, just stares at the fish for a bit before clenching her hand into a fist around it and closing her eyes. Smoke floats from her palm when she opens it again and the only thing left is a small pile of ashes.

"It's fine," she finally says as she walks toward the kitchen, clothes soaking wet and leaving a trail of water as she goes. She stops over the trash can to dispose of the ashes before she grabs the mop and I grab spare cloths from a kitchen drawer so I can help clean up my mess.

"I really am sorry," I say again as I dry off the coffee table and put my ruined books away. She says nothing, just continues to mop up the excess water.

We clean in silence from then on and it's not until all's dry and the guppies are happily swimming about in a makeshift fish tank—a clear mixing bowl—that I break the silence.

"Ember?"

"Yeah?"

"We really should do this," I whisper, eyes carefully kept on the remaining fish and away from her as I sit on the driest part of the couch.

"Fine!" she shouts and I jump a bit as she slams her wet book on the coffee table in annoyance—or is it anger? "We'll do your stupid superhero thing. But I swear, if I hear one more word about it, I won't talk to you for a week."

Shock over takes me for second, but it only a second before I cheer and race to my room.

"I'll start making costume designs!" I yell back to her as I go. I can't believe I did it! As I run over to my desk and pull out my notebook, I flip to the drawings I've been working on for the past couple of weeks.

 _Operation: Become Heroes is finally a go!_

Oh, today is such a good night!

 _ **The Avenger's Tower**_

 _ **Midtown Manhattan, New York City**_

 _ **5:01pm**_

 _ **The Avengers**_

The quiet, crisp even is shattered in the blink of an eye.

One second five figures, all sprawled over various surfaces, lazily watch as _Red Dawn_ plays on Tony Stark's home theatre and the next, a large clap of thunder echoes across the sky while a shiver of uncalled for dread crawls down the spines of all five figures.

 _Something's wrong, they can feel it in the air._

Curses—ranging from colorful Russian to the softer (dang, shoot, holy smokes) swear words of one Steve Rogers—soon fill the room as everyone in the room shoots into a mad scramble. That clap of thunder is so eerily familiar that everyone races up to the roof without a second thought.

Though, if they needed some sort of prompting, the loud, nearly hysterically shout of _"Bruce!"_ has everyone sprinting and—in the case of Steve and everyone behind him—scrambling over each other as Clint trips over his untied shoelaces and takes Natasha down with him.

The panicked shout of _"Tony!"_ has everyone still standing ignoring their downed comrades—much to Steve's horror as you never leave a fellow soldier behind—and another bout of colorful Russian cursing as they continuing their now equally panicked running.

First on the scene is Tony, closely followed by Bruce who fails to realize that the smaller man has stopped cold at the scene in front of him and runs right over him, leaving a nice Tony pancake in his wake. Though as soon as Bruce sees the scene in front of him he stops cold as well—but he makes sure to step out of the way as the others race out after them.

For a second everything falls quiet again as they try to understand the scene in front of them. Even Bruce is baffled because it can't be, but it is, and, no matter how many times he cleans his glasses, the scene in front of him won't change.

"Call Phil."

No one's sure who spoke but the quiet words snaps everyone out of their stupor and they once again scramble into action.

Natasha pulls her phone out from some secret pocket of her seemingly pocket less, leather ensemble and dials Phil's phone with shiny, sharp nails. Clint and Steve pry Tony off the floor and try to once again return him to his normal, less flat shape while Bruce cautiously approaches Thor.

He makes sure to take small calculated steps as he moves because Thor looks like he's not really there—mentally that is. His eyes are frantic, never settling as they flit from Bruce to Natasha to Steve and Clint and Tony then back to the limp, blue figure in his arms before beginning the process all over again.

Bruce for his part keeps his eyes firmly on Thor even though he's desperately wondering if the other is even breathing. He hasn't seen that blue chest lift even a fraction of an inch and he's already dreading have to tell Thor that Loki could quite possibly be dead.

Because even blue and emaciated there's no doubt in his mind that the limp figure is Thor's little brother. It helps that they've all been informed that Loki is actually a Frost Giant and not an Asgardian.

He keeps his hands held up in surrender as he moves and once he's finally within arm's reach he lets his eyes drop down to Loki and its bad. It's worse than what he's seen as his time as an unregister physician in Calcutta, India.

Sure, he's seen more malnourished children but he's never seen them this beaten and vice versa. It's the fact that he's both emaciated _and_ beaten that makes it the worst he's ever seen. And he's not sure if there's anything he can do even as he finally sees that chest rise less than an inch in a pitiful breath.

But fuck if he won't try.

"My lab, now!"


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 **September 10th—11th**

 _ **2214 E Spruce St.**_

 _ **Seattle, Washington**_

 _ **6:46 pm**_

 _ **Ember**_

I can't believe I caved.

Her words still circle around in my mind and they do nothing but chip at my waning self-control. The flames lick at my bones, begging to be let out while my chest—my heart burns—as I keep them in. It's not healthy but between keeping them in and burning the house down— _again—_ I think I'd rather hurt myself.

The words continue to taunt me though and not even the noise from the television chases them away.

 _A Hero?_

 _My duty?_

The flames course through my veins like lava and it takes everything I have not to let them out to wreak havoc. Hell, if it wasn't because Marina's the closest thing to family I have, I would have set _her_ on fire. The words are offending—they are a god damn insult. I'm not a hero; I wasn't put on this earth to save it no matter how much Marina might disagree.

My life's been paved with nothing but misery and death and—contrary to the popular belief—that does not make someone a hero. I have no desire to better anyone's life or to keep others from feeling the same misery I've had to live with since I was born. I don't want to save the earth and I sure as hell don't want to go running around in a cape during the middle of the night.

I like my sleep, thank you very much.

Running around in capes and tights may be Marina's dream come true but not mine. If anything, I was put on this earth to burn it to the ground. I mean, I killed my mother at minutes old for fuck sakes! Yes, that's right, my first experiences with these flames had been when I burnt everything around me at not even an hour old.

If the big man upstairs had planned for me to turn into a superhero, wouldn't he have waited to gift me my abilities when I at least old enough to have some kind of control over them?

How the fuck was a baby supposed to control the un-fucking-controllable? Because fire is uncontrollable. Nothing can have complete control over fire, not even the girl that can burst into flames—and using it as a weapon is just asking for trouble.

Just the thought of it makes the flames burn hotter and disgust joins the fire already running through my body.

 _My duty?_

My fist is through a wall before I can even remember wanting to punch anything. As I ignore the pain shooting up my arm, I stare at the little flames licking at the edges of the hole I've just made but I can't bring myself to care.

So what if the house Marina and I bought together burns down?

It wouldn't be the first house I've set on fire.

 _But Marina would be devastated..._

That girl, she's all I've got and I don't know what I'd do without her. I watch the small flames as they begin to grow, consuming the wall. One more house to add to the many I've already destroyed, sure, but what if it's the last one?

What if Marina decides there won't be another house?

What if she gets tired of my shit?

With a hiss I coax the flames back onto my fingers by blowing them onto my hand and as the flames travel up my fingers and into my palm I marvel at them. They're like little hearts, beautiful, beating to their own rhythm and as they join into one fire ball in the middle of my palm I snuff them out.

 _A hero?_

I'll destroy the world before I save it.

"Let's go shopping."

Marina's voice shocks me out of my thoughts and I look up in time to see her walk into the living room, nose buried in a sketch book. She doesn't look my way as she heads towards the door, once again showing that she has no inkling that she's actually offended me.

Its better that way though, at least I think it is better if she doesn't realize she's done anything wrong. So I make sure to move from in front of the hole I made before she turns towards me.

"Shopping?" I ask once I'm back on the couch and only then does she look up.

"Come on, Em," she say, rolling her eyes a bit. It's no doubt directed at my refusal to go out in public unless strictly necessary. "We need to get our official outfits if we're going to be real superheroes!" she cheers and I can't keep the scowl off my face at the words.

My answer to that would have been an automatic no but then Marina pulls puppy dogs eyes and I'm standing before I realize it. I don't ask where we're going until we're outside and in my car since I already have an idea of where she wants to go. I'm proven correct when she tells me to head towards _DD's Discounts._

"They have a new dance ware section," she says as I drive. "I want to check it out. I'm sure they'll have loads of cool things you'll like for your outfit!"

"You know," I begin, scowl planted firmly on my face. "I might have agreed to do the whole Hero thing, but I never agreed to dressing up like one," I tell her, making sure to keep my eyes on the road. "I have no plans to wear my panties outside of my pants. Or tights. Just because your comic book characters dress up like it's Halloween every night it doesn't mean that I'm going to too."

"Captain America wears tights and he's real," Marina complains a pout on her lips as she sinks into the car seat. I roll my eyes as she whines.

"Yeah, he is," I agree just as we're pulling into the parking lot of _DD's Discounts._ Smirking a bit, I park the car just as Marina gives me a hopeful look. "But so is Iron man and he doesn't were tights."

I can hear Marina's groan even as I exit the car and I chuckle a bit as I lock it up. Without another word we walk side by side to the store and find it as empty and quiet as PetSmart had been during my shift. Weird, these stores are usually busy on a Friday night.

"It was meant to be," Marina cheers quietly, referring to the near empty store before she grabs my hand and drags me to the back of the store. And so the shopping begins as Marina shifts through the racks, pointing out everything and anything she finds interesting.

 _I hate shopping._

 _ **DD's Discounts**_

 _ **Seattle, Washington**_

 _ **6:30 pm**_

 _ **Marina**_

"Oh this is cute!" I say as I lift a black and white biketard up to eye level. It would look great on Em, I just know it! Oh wait, it's too frilly on the sides. Yeah, she won't like it.

"Never mind," I grumble and trade it for a cool peplum jacket sitting on the rack. It's sleek, gives off a nice _assassin spy_ vibe, and is just all around cute. However, on closer inspection, maybe it's not that great.

"Shoot, it's shiny," I grumble as I move it this way and that. Shiny isn't good when you're trying to be sneaky, is it?

With an irritated sigh, I move to the table with leggings. I do need some new ones since I rip my leggings quite often. I use them way too much for them to last longer than a few weeks at most. So it's as I debate over the waist high leggings over the skinny jazz pants, that I notice a lovely open-shoulder shirt.

A squeal of excitement escapes my mouth (and dear Lord, I feel embarrassed the moment my actions register in my brain) as I race toward my light blue source of joy. I look it over, and am happy to find that it's my size. Then I look for the most important information: _the price_.

It's not cheap but definitely not over prized.

 _Sold!_

I shove it in a nearby basket and go back to the leggings. There's a ten dollar difference between them so I end up going with the waist high leggings—the cheaper ones.

Now all I need is a cape, some comfy shoes, and I'm ready to fight crime!

"Hey, Em," I call hefting the basket up as I move towards the shoes section. "Have you found an outfit, yet?" I ask as I begin to browse through them. There's not much else on displace between flats and some skin-toned jazz shoes. I think I'll just stick to my tennis shoes. "Em?"

A minute passes, and still no answer.

"Emmy?" I call, spinning around and looking down the aisles but there seems to be no sight of her anywhere. "Ember, where you at?"

I honestly can't find her, and start to worry that maybe she left without me. But all the worry turns out to be for not as I finally find her in the furniture department.

"Really?" I ask slightly annoyed that she would leave without telling me as I walk towards her. She has a new fish bowl tucked under arms along with a bag of red pebbles as she looks over a crème color loveseat.

"If it's sunny tomorrow we might be able to save the carpet," she says instead and I sigh guiltily. I shouldn't have gotten upset. "There's not much we can do for the sofa though. We're going to have to move it out before it starts stinking up the house."

Is that what it's like for her? Too get so angry that there's nothing she can do to stop it? Is that why she's always so desperate to stay calm?

"You're right," I agree as I begin to look over the couch as well. "But you know, maybe if we catch some bad guys, the cops will be so happy, they'll give us a cash reward, and then we can buy new furniture with that!"

I swear, ' _Operation: Become Heroes'_ is sounding better and better the more I think about it!

"No," she says with a shake of her head as she turns to place the fish bowl in the basket "They won't. If anything, they'll throw us in jail for being vigilantes."

I cross my arms and stick my tongue out at her, but she's too engrossed in checking out the furniture to notice. It's too bad we can't buy from here though. Those sofas look really comfortable. And not to mention water resistant, but way too expensive.

Still, I've been saving up some money the past couple of months for tickets to a convention. Maybe it'll be enough to buy a new carpet instead. The least I can do is replace it if it can't be saved.

"That's your outfit?" she suddenly asks and I look down, a bit startled, to find her pointing towards the basket.

"Yeah! I just need the blue cape and some shoes, but this is pretty much it. And look, it's all my favorite colors and they're super stretchy! Heck, I'll be able to do some good gainers with this."

"Gainers?"

"It's when you do back flips but move forward."

"Oh, right. Ready?"

"Sure am," I tell her as we begin making our way to the cash register. It's a good thing I already made my cape last week. "In fact, I have everything I need for my outfit so we can go out today!"

"Today?"

"Yup," I say as we pay for our things and exit the store. "It should be fine right? I don't have school tomorrow and you don't have work."

"Yeah, today's good," she says as we climb into the car.

The ride home is a quiet one, filled only with music from the radio. The closer we get home and the more time passes, the more excited I get.

 _Oh, I can't wait for tonight!_

The second the car rumbles to a stop in the driveway, I shoot out of the car. I don't wait for Ember as I race into the house and to my room to get changed. I pull on my new shirt and leggings first then walk over to my closet to take out my secret stash.

Em would think I'm so weird for planning this for so long. _Operation Become Heroes_ has been in the works ever since what happened in New York. Ever since the Alien Invasion because, after all the devastation, all the loss and destruction I just knew this is what I needed to do.

Save people.

Fight bad guys.

The superhero business.

I slide my hands into a pair of blue arm warmers, tie a satin blue cape loosely around my neck, and pull some boots on my feet. As I pull my hair out and over my cape, I turn towards the mirror then smooth down my shirt.

 _I'm ready._

"Hey, Em! What do you think?" I call out as I walk out the door and towards the living room. She looks up from where she's setting up the new fish bowl and quirks a brow.

"Well, it's definitely interesting," she says as I spin around excitedly.

"What are you going to wear?"

"Wear?" She says the word likes its foreign to her before glancing down at her clothes. "I'm just going to wear this," she states flatly as she scoops up the now empty mixing bowl and takes it to the kitchen.

"Really? Not even a cape or a belt?" I ask, slightly disappointed as I look her up and down. She's dressed in a pair of black jeans, a black boy's tee with red writing, and a pair of red converses.

 _'This is so not how I imagined we would make our great superhero debut tonight...'_ I think to myself as I remember the drawings I made of us when I first starting imaging us as the heroes I know we're meant to be.

"Look, I was serious when I said I'm not into that whole _'Halloween every night'_ thing," she says as she places the bowl in the sink. "Black jeans and a hoodie are all I'm going to wear. Take it or leave it."

I don't push any further.

At least she's wearing red—her favorite color and I'm wearing blue.

We can work with this.

It's our trademark colors. I mean, what kind of hero doesn't have a signature color? Batman has black and yellow, Green Lantern's is green, and The Flash's is red and gold. Mine is blue and hers is... Well, it would look like it'll be black and red.

 _It'll do._

"You ready to go?" I ask after my musings.

"If we're honestly going to do this, then we're going to have to wait till eleven," she says after a quick glance at the clock.

I'm impatient to go, but she has a point. Crime happens at all times, but the time when people need help the most is when good Samaritans are asleep. So, without another word, I reluctantly slump onto a kitchen chair to wait.

"Hey, Em," I call as she washes the bowl. "What's your superhero name going to be?"

"What?" she asks, as she places the bowl onto the rack to dry. She turns to me with wide eyes afterwards and it's then that I realize my question has caught her off guard.

"Your hero name, love," I say and try to appear nonchalant as I flip through a nearby magazine. "You know, like Bruce Wayne's is Batman," I explain when she doesn't respond. "I'm going to go by Reka..."

"Superhero names? You've really thought of everything haven't you?"

"Yeah, kind of. What's yours going to be?"

She quirks an eye brow at me but doesn't answer. Instead she shakes her head and begins to walk out of the kitchen. I move to follow after her, insisting on her choosing a superhero name.

"I'm good without one," she finally says as she sits down on the—no doubt—still wet couch. It's not like she has much to worry about anyways. With the amount of heat her body radiates, her clothes will be dry in no time.

 _Maybe she can dry the couch before it starts to stink._

"But Em—"

"I'm not doing it for the fame and glory, Marina," she says as she leans back on the couch and stares up at the ceiling. "I'm just doing it to shut you up," she grumbles. A part of me warms at the statement because I know that's her way of saying that she's doing it for me. "I don't need one."

It might be a harsh way to say it but I understand what's she trying to say. Ember's always been a bit emotionally challenged.

"Em, come on," I whine as I sit on the coffee table in lue of a better place. While I'm warmed, a part of me is still also horrified. We can't be superheroes together if she doesn't even have a name! "You gotta have a name! What kind of hero doesn't have a name?"

"Someone who's not a hero," she whispers so low that I almost miss it. "Someone who can never be consider a hero," she continues and I watch as she looks down at her hands. Smoke curls from her palms as I watch as flames erupt from them. "Someone who's killed too many people to ever be a hero."

We fall into silence after that, an awkward one that has me staring down at my hands uncomfortably. I regret bringing it up.

"So, Reka," she says just when the silence gets to be too much and I blush. Shoot! I knew I should've waited! "Been thinking of that name long?"

Now she's going to realize I've been planning this for awhile.

"Not really," I lie. "I was just looking up baby names the other day and I liked that one."

"Really? What does the name mean?" she prods slightly. I smile, grateful to have something easy to talk about as we wait for time to pass.

"Reka is a Hungarian name. It means river, but in Maori it also means sweet. I really liked it," I all but gush and she gives me a warm smile

"It's nice," she says. "It suits you."

Silence falls again but this time it's comfortable one and, sensing that there's nothing more to talk about, I turn on the television. Time seems to crawl as I wait for it to be the moment we can leave. So when it's finally fifteen till eleven, I all but bounce out the door as we finally head out.

 _That took longer than I expected._

We decide to walk towards the downtown district—according to comic books that's where bad guys usually are—instead of taking her car on the grounds that it really is to noisy to creep up on people. So we walk in silence as we do so.

' _I'm on the prowl. Bad guys beware! I shall catch you red handed and knock you out with a quick kick!'_

"What are you laughing at?"

I'm startled by the sudden noise and feel like I just jumped out of my skin when I turn toward Em again.

"What?"

"You were laughing," she says throwing me a concerned look. "Well, more like giggling. What's so funny?"

"I was just imaging what it's like to beat bad guys up like they do in comic books." I say as I feel the sure signs of embarrassment building on my face. I hear her sigh and I know what she's thinking: _'Real life isn't a comic book,'_ but she says nothing and silence settles over us once again.

And it feels like we're just taking a stroll. A stroll down an empty—kind of dangerous—part of town in the middle of the night...But still, it feels more like a stroll than two kick ass chicks out to fight crime.

However, I'm still on alert because I refuse to miss my chance if the occasion comes; though, it doesn't seem like that's happening any time soon.

"Ashes."

"Ashes?" I repeat after Ember, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as I look towards her.

"Yeah," she whispers, eyes focused on clouds over head. I really hope it rains. "If I have to pick a name, it's going to be Ashes," she whispers turning sad gray eyes my way. "After all, once fire is gone, all that's left is ashes. And I've never really lasted any place without ashes while I was growing up."

She has a smile in place, a small unassuming little thing, but her eyes look pained.

I'm really starting to regret having insisted on a name for her.

"Come on," she suddenly says and pulls my arm. I hadn't even realized we stopped walking until now. "You won't find any bad guys here, just standing around like this."

Hey, maybe she's starting to get into this too!

An hour and a half later, and all we've encountered so far has been a cat—a cat I nearly scared to death with a karate chop—and a sleeping homeless man. I didn't think about bringing money with me at all, but luckily Em did. She gave him some change that was in her pockets and on we went.

So far, I'm feeling disappointed.

"Is this going how you expected?" Ember asks with a hint of smugness in her tone as she kicks a rock further down the empty alleyway we're walking in. I scowl at her as we walk and kick a rock of my own Just as a cat's screech echoes down the alley.

It's followed soon after by a person's laugh.

"Now's our chance!" I loudly whisper but before I can run down the alley Ember grabs my arm and holds me back.

"Marina, it's just a cat," she says, though she doesn't turn to look at me. Her eyes are fixed down the alley, searching for any movement—waiting for anyone to appear. "I thought you wanted to be a superhero—not an animal whisperer."

"If Mr. Incredible can save a cat, so can I," I scoff and pull out of her grip. I quietly make my way towards the alley where we heard the noise, sneaking along the wall. I make quick turns as I dart side to side, and push myself against the wall as I wait for Em to catch up.

When I turn, I'm mildly horrified at the fact that one, she's simply just walking forward. And two, that all my efforts at being discreet were really not necessary at all. It took me ten minutes to get to this point; it could've easily taken me three minutes at most. I can feel a blush burn my cheeks yet I keep my face fixed in her direction.

"Your technique could use a bit more flair," I whisper once she's close enough. "But we'll work on that," I say as I turn my attention back to the case at hand. I see her bite back a laugh out of the corner of my eye and soon I'll holding back a giggle of my own.

"Ready?" I ask.

She shakes her head, but I think it's more in disbelief than actually saying no.

 _'Three, two, one,'_ I mouth before jumping in.

I'm about to scream, _"Freeze!"_ but as I look around there's no one to be seen. So instead I quietly walk until I get to the middle of the alley and then turn back to Ember.

"Wasn't there someone here?"

She's doesn't answer. She doesn't even look at me because something behind me has her complete attention. And I would have asked her if it was the dumpster except her eyes are wide and fear is so clearly etched onto her features. Before I can ask her what's wrong, I feel something hard against the back of my head and hear a definitive noise.

 _'Click'_

 _ **Random Back Alley**_

 _ **Seattle Washington**_

 _ **1:09 am**_

 _ **Ember**_

This was a bad idea, I knew it was since she first suggested it and made sure to tell her so time and time again but she didn't listen. She never does no matter what you say or how many times you tell her it's going to blow up in her face because, once the idea is in her head, there's no getting it out.

So here we are; stuck in a back alley somewhere in the rougher part of Seattle with the sleek silver barrel of a rather nicely polished glock pointed at her head. Several more are trained on me and there's nothing I can do but watch.

They came out of mother fucking nowhere.

One second I'd been laughing internally at her rather sad attempts at parkour and the next second the quiet, yet telling click of a gun loading was all the warning we got before we were surrounded. The sneers and crude comments had come afterwards but I ignored them as I watched them drag her away.

They pull her deeper into the alley and away from what little light manages to filter in through the thick clouds.

I should have been able to stop them, we both should have but fear froze us, just like I knew it would. Like I kept telling her it would because we're young. We're not ready. We've never had to face anything like _this_.

 _This_ isn't a video game.

 _This_ isn't the same as helping a little old lady across the street.

Or rescuing a cat from a tree.

 _This is real._

And there's nothing I can do!

Not with those guns aimed at me and definitely not with one aimed at her. You don't mix fire with guns, you just don't. Or else the shells will explode and that's no better than being shot. _My_ abilities are useless to us.

 _But hers aren't_ _._

But she's fucking _frozen!_

Her eyes are wide with fear and no matter how much I want to tell her it'll all be okay I can't. I won't lie to her, not about this so I tear my eyes from her before the lies can spill from my lips.

 _Think, think!_

Maybe if I shoot a carefully aimed fire ball at them? As far away from the guns as possible like their stomach or legs? But what if the pain makes their fingers clamp down on the trigger and they shoot? No, I can't do that.

Shit, I really should have taken some martial arts classes.

She's our only hope…

She has to move, she has to do something because I can't. My fire is useless but her water isn't. She can freeze the guns in water or, hell, just out right freeze our attackers themselves. But to do that she has to move.

I turn my gaze back to her and that's when it all goes to hell.

Her shirts gone.

Her cape is pooled at her feet.

There are hands tugging at her belt.

And the world explodes.

The flames have a mind of their own as they shoot out of my body in waves. The beat to their own rhythm as they lick at the walls, the fences, the bodies around me. The roar of the flames drowns out everything and they're all I can hear even as the shells explode.

To me the world is nothing but reds and yellows and hate, hate, hate.

Anger and hate.

And fear and pain.

It's everywhere, and it fuels the flames as it blossoms across my chest and arms. It fuels the hate and the red gets darker.

I can feel it running down my chest and arms.

Pooling in my lungs and taste it on my tongue.

The hate.

The anger.

The red.

The blood.

 _That's my blood…_

 _ **The Avenger's Tower**_

 _ **Midtown Manhattan, New York City**_

 _ **4:**_ _**37 am**_

 _ **The Avengers**_

It's two in the morning and he can't sleep, can't rest, can hardly think. He's done all he can and there's not much more he can do. It doesn't help that he has no knowledge on the anatomy of a frost giant.

 _Is thirty-five degrees normal?_

 _Is his pulse rate to high?_

 _Is it too slow!?_

There's nothing he can do and it's killing him but not as much as it's killing Thor to watch his little brother lay there and wonder if he'll ever wake up again. Loki's motionless on the bed that's too big for him and makes him look even smaller than he is.

Everywhere Thor looks all he sees is tubes and wires and it makes it look that much worse. They're covering every inch of that blue skin and it's tearing him apart on the inside to see this because he's the older one.

" _Thor, come. Come meet your baby brother."_

He was supposed to take care of him.

" _He's so small…What's his name, mother?"_

Protect him.

" _Loki, Loki Odinson."_

And he failed.

"Loki."

The quiet whisper, almost whimper, draws Steve's gaze to the proud Asgardian warrior. He watches Thor slump further in his seat while desperately clutching Loki's hand and, not for the first time, wonders just what happened.

They haven't been able to get anything useful from Thor. In his panic he'd given clipped, mumbled answers to anyone that asked, not that they'd done much asking. The moment everyone had come back to their senses they'd been too busy trying to keep Loki breathing to find out the _'who, what, when, where, and whys'_.

Though even now the usually loud, cheerful blonde hasn't made much more than a peep and it's worrying them. All of them, even Natasha and Clint had expressed their concern before business with S.H.E.I.L.D. had called them and Phil—who'd arrived two hours after they'd called him—away.

" _In further news, half of Seattle, Washington has gone up in flames. Though the cause of the fire is still unknown, the Seattle Fire Department is working hard to contain the fire. The number of casualties is still undetermined but it's estimated to be within the hundreds."_

A low whistle to his left pulls Steve's attention to Tony who's sprawled across one of Bruce's lab tables in exhaustion. Out of all them Tony had been the most useful one to Bruce, surprisingly, and when all was done he'd collapsed against the closest surface. Which turned out to be the table.

"Half of fucking Seattle…," Tony mumbles to himself and Steve's doesn't response. He's come to realize that Tony has a habit of talking to himself out loud. "Do you think that's where Bird boy and Widow went?" he asks louder while peeking over at Steve and Steve shrugs, uncaring.

He's got much more important things to think about then a city on fire on the other side of the country.


	4. Chapter 3

**September 11th—18th**

 _ **Unknown**_

 _ **Unknown**_

 _ **6 am**_

 _ **Marina**_

 _Oh god... What have I done?_

What happened? Everything was going just fine. At least everything was supposed to go fine. We'd stop some robbers, beat up some thugs, and save some people then go home and celebrate a job well done.

 _Great..._

(We were going to be great. We were—)

 _Reka and Ashes: The Heroes of Seattle._

That's what the headlines were going to read and from then on bad guys would cower in their boots at the thought of us. We would protect sweet little Seattle from all the bad people, maybe make a nemesis or two, and then save the world from destruction.

 _What a fucking joke._

(Ember was right.)

We froze, just like she knew we would. But of course she would know, she's been through situations like these before! Dangerous moments were she wasn't sure she'd lived to see the next sunrise.

 _Mutants and sociopaths and evil people who only want to cause others pain._

(This world is extremely fucked up!)

"Miss Ramirez?"

Karate! I could have pulled some type of move to at least disarm one of them. I was really good with at least three of them.

(Damn, Sensei Kris would be so disappointed.)

 _What about Tai Kwon_ _Do? I'm taking those classes for a reason, right?_

(What a waste!)

My powers, why the hell didn't I use my powers!

"Marina Ramirez, is that your name?"

"Yes."

My voice sounds odd to my own ears; bland, emotionless, mechanical as I turn from the window I've been staring out of for… _minutes, hours, days?_ I don't even know where I am nor have I been paying attention to a word being said.

A man stands before me, prim and press in his suit with a clip board in one hand and a pen in the other. He's talking again but his words don't register through the fog of guilt and concern and shame in my mind. I just stare at him as he talks until, finally, one of his words catches my attention.

"—deemed a threat to homeland security—"

"Ember isn't dangerous," I whisper as I stare back out the window and towards the white fluffy clouds. They're all around us and I'm beginning to think we're on a plane. Expect this isn't like any plane I've ever been in.

(If it is a plane, it's a huge one then.)

"She destroyed all of Seattle," the man says and I turn back to him with an eyebrow raise.

"The Avengers destroyed more than half of New York during their fight with Loki alone. And that's not counting Tony Stark's fights or Bruce Banner's hulk outs," I say and the man gives me an appraising looks as he realizes just how much I know. "Are you saying they're dangerous too?"

"Yes, they are and so they're watched every second of their lives by S.H.I.E.L.D.—by us, now tell me," the man says and pauses a bit to look down at his clip board. "Why did Ember start the fire and why were you one of only two to survive it?"

(Shield?)

"It was an accident," I whisper and the man only quirks an eyebrow at my response "It was my fault really. The fire—it wouldn't have happened if I'd only listened to her. If I—"

If I hadn't frozen.

(If I hadn't thought we should check out the noise in the alley.)

 _Fuck!_

If I had just been a normal person and not got it in my head that I could be a hero, none of this would have happened!

Seattle would be fine.

Countless of innocent people wouldn't be dead.

But most importantly, Ember wouldn't be in the hospital...

"If you're trying to protect your friend, I understand, but you have to realize you can't. Only we can."

White hot anger fills me to the brim at his words because they're insulting. What gives him the right to say I can't protect my own best friend? She's been safe with me all these years and if anyone can keep her out of harm's way it'd be me!

 _Except…_

Maybe she _has_ gotten in more problems now than she would have before…

(Like when she set fire to the school. )

Blew up the gas station.

 _The park._

(Foster Care. )

But she was safe.

(And she's happy. At least... At least I _think_ she was.)

We have a house—had, it's gone now—and a car—that's gone too but I'm talking about before—and the gold fish—I killed one and the others are probably dead now—and she was studying to be a veterinarian—though she took a semester off because she couldn't pay for the classes so she was working two jobs to save up enough money.

 _She…she…._

(She was happy.)

She had to be.

Tears fill my eyes but I freeze the tears and wipe the ice out of my eyes. They _ping_ onto the ground and I ignore them. The man, though, begins to scribble furiously on his clipboard as he sees the little crystals fall. It makes me want to stop them but, before I know it, these unbidden tears start pouring out.

The come in waves, and every time I think I'm finally done and can catch my breath, more heaving sobs escape.

The tears just won't stop coming because this is my fault.

Because Ember could die at any moment and it'll be no one's fault but my own.

"Fuck."

 _You wanted to be a Superhero, didn't you?_

 _ **Undisclosed**_

 _ **Unknown**_

 _ **Up for debate**_

 _ **Ember**_

 _Beep, Beep, Beep._

It won't shut up and its start to really annoy me but there's nothing I can do. I'm stuck half way between being asleep and waking up as the beeping continues. Though, even as I wake, I want nothing more than to dive back into my dreams and sleep forever.

 _I hurt all over._

What hit me?

God, I'm so sore and my arms feel like noodles. I don't remember working out before going to bed. Hell, I don't even remember _going_ to bed. What the hell happened yesterday?

The flames lick at my throbbing bones as I rouse but any memories of the past day are blocked by a haze I recognize all too well.

It's like an old friend and I welcome it because it can only mean one thing. Something happened, something bad and I _know_ it's the only thing keeping the flames at bay as they continue to beat angrily under my skin.

They crawl over my bones like spiders and I can feel them as they trail up and down the length of my body. Their looking for a way out and I know that it's only because the morphine is clouding my mind and therefore weakening their strength that they haven't burst out.

It would be a good thing, fantastic even, if it weren't because morphine means one thing.

I'm at the Hospital.

Just how bad was it?

My answer comes in the form of searing, gut wrenching pain. It spreads along my chest and leaves me wondering just what the hell I did as I clench my teeth to keep from screaming. Well, I _try_ to clench my teeth but it's only then that I realize that there's something in my mouth.

 _A breathing tube._

That bad, huh?

My fingers twitch with the urge to reach up and yank the tube out but the morphine still has me in her grip and I can't move. Though I can feel the pain as the scalpel continues its path down my torso and I want to scream at them to stop but all I can do is let out a pitiful whine.

"What is that?"

It's a fearful whisper that I'm amazed I've managed to hear over the beep and whirls of all the machines in the room but it fills me with cruel satisfaction. They're not talking about my whine.

 _The flames have found their way out._

I don't have to look to know that they're lazily seeping out of the incision. I can't stop them either, not with the flames so intent on getting out and my mind still hazed by the drugs in my body. It takes everything I have to simply lift my arm and wrap my fingers around the plastic tube protruding from my throat.

"She's waking up!"

There's a panicked tremble in the voice that would have had me smirking if I could. Instead I settle for weakly tugging at the tube while fighting against the hands trying to stop me. They can try all they want but they'll only be hurting themselves.

 _My skin's as hot as it can go without me bursting into flames._

I can fucking _hear_ their flesh sizzle.

"Put her back under!"

Their attempts happen to work in my favor though, because as one finally keeps hold on my arm through the pain and tugs, they pull the tube with it. Its leaves me gasping and gagging but at least it's out and with it gone I turn my attention to the many other tubes protruding through my body.

"Hold her down!"

The commanding tone in that voice is not a way I would have thought a doctor would have sounded. Though, and as I finally open my eyes, all I can make out are blurs. The bright white stings my eyes but I ignore it as I set my sights on what I think is the IV.

Though as I finally manage to warp my fingers around it a hand harshly rips mine away. Once again the tube comes with us and I watch as thin spurts of blood shoots out of my arm. Though it's not the blood itself that has me fascinated but the fire that squirts out with it.

 _Look, mom, I'm a rocket._

This time the hands that hold me down don't let go and I can't find they energy to struggle as they pin me to the bed. How can they stand the heat?

How aren't they being scorched?

How hasn't anything around me gone up in flames? I can still feel the flames steadily pouring from the incision made along my chest and yet the sheets haven't been set on fire.

 _Flame retardant._

Of course. A hospital can't go catching on fire now can they? Even though I'm pretty sure they weren't thinking about a fire starting girl when they decided to make them flame resistant.

"Alright, we need to work fast people. Dr. Streiten, close the incision."

"But, we've yet to—"

Something cold replaces the hands as I'm strapped to the bed and I can't quiet muster the energy to be annoyed at being tied down as it feel too good against my over heated skin. It's so refreshing and not even the fact that I know I have to at least try to stop the flames makes me fight against the restraints.

"She is stabilized and that is all we need. You can operate to extract the metal at another time."

"Yes sir."

Sharp pinpricks against my stomach soon make me regret not struggling though and I arch up in pain as they stitch my skin back together. More fire continues to shoot from my stomach at the pain and I can hear them curse as they scramble to work faster.

"Someone bring the other girl, Marina. I want her here five seconds ago."

It's the sound of her name that finally does it. The haze lifts so quick it makes me dizzy and the memories of last night hit me like lighting.

The quiet click of a gun.

The sneers.

The cape at her feet.

The world exploding.

"Evacuate immediately!"

Once again the world gets narrowed down to red even as darkness dances across my vision.

And with a choked and deranged laugh I let it pull me under.

Their screams are music to my ears.

 _ **Still Unknown**_

 _ **Definitely Not Washington**_

 _ **3 pm**_

 _ **Marina**_

A week, it's been a week and still nothing.

Ember hasn't woken—but that could be because they're keeping her heavily sedated. I'm not stupid, I can see how much medicine they're pumping into her and while I may not be doctor or a nurse, even I can tell they're pumping _a lot_ of medicine into her IV.

 _They're afraid of her._

Especially after that fire.

"Hello, Ms. Marina."

I look from Em's prone form as a man walks into her hospital room—at least I think it's a hospital. It's the one from before, in his prim and proper suit. There's not a hair out of place as he walks into to the room and I watch him curiously as he comes towards me.

"Hello... Mister…?"

"Coulson, Phil Coulson," he says and stretches his hand out to me. I take it cautiously and give it a firm shake. He seems more relaxed this time—if still a little businesslike—and has a small smile on his lips as he motions to the chair next to me. "Would you mind if I take a seat?"

"Go ahead."

I turn my gaze back to Ember as he sits and an uncomfortable silence falls over us as I wait for him to say why he's here. She looks better than she did a week ago, even with all the bandages covering her body, and while the doctors haven't really told me much I know she'll wake up just as soon as they let up on the medication.

"How is she?" he questions, looking her over and I look up from where I've been playing with a piece of her hair. My attempts at a French braid on her black hair goes awry at the question, and I take care not to pull too much on her scalp as I work to start over.

"I... I don't really know," I mumble, eyes fixed on my fingers in her hair. "Nobody's told me anything about her. The doctors won't even answer my questions because we're not 'blood relatives'. Which is completely stupid since she doesn't have any blood relatives."

 _No one's told me much about where I am either._

Once again my attempt at braiding her hair fails because her hair is nothing more than a chopped mess. It' cropped short at the back, only a few inches long, while the front drops down way past shoulder length. I try again though because, if there's one thing I'm not going to fail her in, it's braiding her hair.

Not that she'll like it though. She keeps her hair like that for a reason after all, but hey. How else am I going to keep track of how long her hair is? She'll be upset if she wakes up to a long tangle mess and will probably chop it off with the first pair of scissors she can find.

Silence envelopes us as I work and, though I know Mister Coulson is staring, I ignore him.

"Does she like braids?"

"Not at all," I mumble, a small smile on my lips as I imagine how annoyed she'll be when she finally wakes up to see it. "She prefers her hair to be loose and carefree. It's the only thing about herself that she ever lets just... be."

"So she's very restrictive," Phil says and nods in understanding. "Likes to be in control."

"No," I mumble with a small shake of my head. "Not like that, it's more…," I pause as I try to find the right way to put it. "She prefers to stay in check. To make sure she's calm and has a steady grip on her emotions so she won't be causing…problems, I guess. If it's ever a question about control, it's more in relation to control over herself."

He obviously mulls over what I just say as we lull back into silence and while he thinks about it I finish the braid I've been trying to do for the past hour. It's not perfect but its good enough to keep her hair out of the way, so I start another, smaller one.

"What about you? Do _you_ like to be in control?"

"I guess I do," I say after thinking his words over for a bit. "I just tend to do what I like, get other people to try it too. It's never anything bad like drugs or stuff. It's more, I'll organize movie parties or show marathons and just try to get people to come. I like having fun, and I want others to have fun too."

"What kind of movies and shows?"

At that question, I can feel my fangirl switch flip and I can't contain the excitement as I start telling him about my favorite shows and movies. From there, we talk about some of my favorite books, and even comics.

Turns out he's a really big Captain America fan. And he thinks Superman is just an attempt at making it impossible for someone to be like the Cap.

"I totally get you. The amazing thing about Captain America is that he was one of _us_ before he became a superhero, and I think that's one of the things that makes him so endearing."

"Yes," he agrees and even nods enthusiastically. "With Superman, it's understandable people would like him, but he's never been one of us. He was born an alien and he's basically invincible except for that green rock. What's it called?"

"Kryptonite."

"That's the one! But yes, except for that, he's hardly flawed. And he works to _pretend_ to be like us."

"Oh! Have you seen Kill Bill before?" I ask excitement seeping into me as I remember a comment from the movie I think he would appreciate it.

"I don't believe I have."

"Well, if I tell you this part, it doesn't really kill the movie for you," I say reassuringly to him. "But anyways, one of the characters comments on Superman. He says that all superheroes are the alter egos of these regular Joes. But Clark Kent is the alter ego to the 'regular' Joe Superman..."

I can see his eyes light up at that comment. It's almost as if someone said what he's been trying to articulate since forever.

"Exactly!" he exclaims, excitement pouring off him in waves before he catches himself and pulls himself back into his businesslike attitude.

It's like watching a teenager get caught making out with his girlfriend in the back of his parents' car. I chuckle at his straightens himself out, but I'm glad. We fangirled—well, I fangirled. He fanboyed. Yes, we fanned together, and anyone who can geek out with me is cool in my book. Not to mention, it's nice to have something to distract from what's been going on.

I look back down at Ember, sad since she couldn't be part of this conversation. She would've probably brought up Batman. Or Joker! She's really into that comic series and loves Joker more than anything.

But alas, she's still... She's not here.

"You really care about your friend, don't you?" he asks as he catches me looking back at her and I nod, a small smile on my lips.

"I love her. She's my soul mate."

An eyebrow shoots up at that, so I roll my eyes as I clarify just what I meant.

"On a non-romantic level. There's more than one type of soul mate, you know," I grumble. Typical that that's the first thing people think about at the word _'soul mate'._ I blame teenagers. "You can have a person that you're so close to. Someone you'd basically do anything for, but it doesn't have to be because you're _in love_ with them. Just that you love them with all your heart. Like a mother loves her child, or how close sisters love one another. Or even how best friends love their best friends."

He looks a bit unconvinced but he seems to take my words as truth.

"So, how did such a strong bond between you two form?"

"We met five years ago in middle school, eighth grade actually," I mumble, a blush coming to my cheeks at the memory. "I was new since I had skipped seventh grade, so I didn't know anyone. And there were all these little cliques but I didn't feel…like I fit in with any of them.

"I spent all day like the outcast. I even ate my lunch in the bathroom," I say and cover my face in embarrassment. "But then I got to my last class and I saw her. She was just sitting there, in the back corner, all by herself. And I just didn't like it."

"So you befriended her right then and there?"

"I tried," I giggled with a shake of my head. "But she made it _so_ hard."

"Did she?"

"Mm'hmm, I guess it wasn't her fault though, growing up the way she did. She was so used to people walking out of her life that, by the time I got there, she was so sure I was going to be the same and refused to open up. Plus, teenagers aren't the nicest bunch and this lot was especially vicious."

"They bullied her?"

"No, not so much as that, as they refused to so much as look at her," I reassure him. "They saw someone who didn't talk to anyone or even try to make friends and thought _'why should we be nice to her if she thinks she's too good to talk to anyone.'"_

"She didn't speak much I take."

"Hardly said more than five words even when the teacher forced everyone introduced themselves at the being of class. And it wasn't because she was nervous. She didn't even look uncomfortable. Hell, the whole atmosphere of the class changed when she spoke. And let me tell you, if you didn't think I was intrigued, you are more than wrong."

"I ended asking the girl next to me about her," I continue and frown as her words come back to me "' _Her?'_ she sound so disgusted as she spat out the word. _'Don't try to talk to her. She doesn't like people, so people don't really like her.'_ "

"Clearly her words didn't stop you, though, did they," Coulson comments with a smirk and I give him a half smile.

"I guess I'm just really stubborn that way..."

We continue talking some more after that and I tell him about my parents— _'they like your friend too?' 'They treat her like family and are probably worried half to death about us right now.'_ —and school— _'So you're a psychology major... Interesting choice.' 'Oh, it is interesting.'._

I tell him about how I annoyed Emmy all the time when we first started talking. With horoscopes and astrology and zodiacs, using whatever I could to try to get to know her more.

 _'So, she called_ you _a pisces for being so, pushy?'_

I even tell him all about the things I like and some of the things Ember likes. He even said he would help me make Em feel comfortable once she woke up again.

All in all, I can't help but feel like he's someone I can trust.

I don't like that it kind of feels like I'm caged in, but if he's here, at least I don't feel too scared even though I'm not allowed to go home—not that there's a house to go back to anymore...

We talk for hours and once he leaves, I pat Ember's hand.

"Don't worry, Em. Everything will be ok."

 _ **The Avenger's Tower**_

 _ **Midtown Manhattan, New York City**_

 _ **6 pm**_

 _ **The Avengers**_

"Are you serious?"

The demand, coated in venom and hidden anger, rings around the room, disturbing the tense silence. The stare down continues though and one Phil Coulson struggles to hold back the need to fidget as he keeps his gaze lock with S.H.I.E.L.D.'S—under normal circumstances ( _which this most definitely is_ _ **not**_ _)_ —most loyal—and lethal ( _run while you can_ )—agent.

"Deadly."

Short, clipped answers, it's the only way to go so the agent—watchful and cunning ( _shit_ )—won't realize just how nervous he is. Green eyes—that somehow manage to burn with the intensity of a thousand suns ( _she's pissed_ )—bore into his but he hasn't made it this far without learning how to keep face. So he keeps his face carefully blank even though he's mentally calculating the possibility of getting out of this alive.

 _10%_

"No."

In any other situation the determination in those green eyes and in that voice would have been refreshing, would have made him beam with pride but right now the make him pull his hair out in frustration—internally of course ( _I'm bald enough as it is_ ). He takes a deep, calming breath and tries to discreetly—as discreetly as you can with master assassins around ( _please, dear baby Jesus, don't notice_ )—shake off his nerves.

"It's not your call to make, Romanoff."

That look!

He's seen that look before—the one that promises pain and suffering ( _make that 5%_ )—and he quickly says his prayers as Natasha takes a menacing step forward. This is insubordination; it really is but Phil can't and won't call her out on it, not in a situation like this where she's basically being forced to choose between work and family because they are family now—well, Thor is ( _I told Fury sticking them together was a bad idea_ ).

"Wanna run that one by me again?"

Her hand, stark white against her black outfit and incredibly noticeable, flashes to her waist where Phil _knows_ she keeps her knives. This time he can't stop his gulp of fear at the blatant threat because he knows that she knows that he knows those knives are there. But before she can pull them out and use them on him a tan, calming, hand lands on her shoulder, causing her to drop her hand from her waist.

"That's enough, Natasha, he's only following orders."

It's the voice of reason, calm and even, and he visibly relaxes, he knows he does but can't really bring himself to care that he just lost face because this is _Natasha_. Good as he may be, there's no way he'd be able to go up against her and win, not with who her teacher was. The hand drops from her shoulder as soon as it's clear she won't attack because you just don't touch Natasha—not without good reason ( _and saving my hide was definitely a good reason_ ).

"I'm sorry, I truly am. But there's nothing I can do. These orders come directly from the council," he says regretfully and lets his shoulders sag in defeat as he meets everyone's gaze head on. "We did try, you know, but they demand that Loki be put under lock and key before he wakes. America can't take anymore destruction, not after what happened in Seattle," he explains and offers them an apologetic smile.

"Maybe it would be for the best."

Bruce's voice cuts across the room like a whip and every head turns towards him in an instant. He stands by Loki, a clip board clenched in his hands and staring thoughtfully at the monitors connected to the blue figure lying peacefully on the bed. His pen taps quietly against the monitor screen as he thinks, obviously mulling over his next words.

"What do you mean, Bruce?" Clint asks, his voice coming out unnervingly small and sounding so lost that for a second all Phil can see is a young Clint. Dressed in rags and cover in dirt, hiding behind a garbage can in some random alley while trying to escape the rain. It's an image Phil doesn't like remembering and he struggles to shake it off while waiting for Bruce's reply.

"Think about it. I hardly know what I'm doing and have no clue if any of Loki's readings are normal. He could be dying for all I know," Bruce explains, gaze still locked on the monitor, but winces when he realizes just how blunt and harsh his last words are. "Though I doubt they're experts on Frost Giant Medicine they might be better equipped to handle this," he says before turning a questioning gaze towards Phil. "Are they?"

"While I do not know the extent of their knowledge on Frost Giants, I do believe they should be able to help Loki recuperate," he says and it's the best answer he can give because he really doesn't know if the doctors at S.H.I.E.L.D. _do_ have extensive knowledge on Frost Giants. It really wouldn't surprise him if they did though.

 _It's S.H.I.E.L.D. for fuck's sake._

They have more skeletons in the closet and aces up their sleeves then should be legally allowed. The fact that he's still around, walking and talking and pissing Natasha off enough to contemplate kicking her superior's ass proves it.

"He's got a point," Tony—once again the voice of reason ( _when did he become an adult_ )—says and moves from Natasha's side to place a comforting hand on Thor's shoulder. "It would be better to move Loki, 'sides I doubt they'd treat him badly. Assholes that they may be, they wouldn't hurt anyone that couldn't defend themselves."

 _Has Tony Stark finally grown up?_

"Yeah and we'll be there to kick anyone ass that even tries to hurt him," Clint says in his usual boisterous manner and Phil's heart warms at the sight. He's always had a soft spot for the blonde. Picking someone off the streets and giving them something to at least call _'home'_ does that to you. Though seeing Clint now, strong and happy—no longer the lean awkward preteen struggling to survive on his own ( _Clint..._ )—with five individuals to call ' _family_ ', makes him happier than anything else ever can. "Because he's family now too!"

 _Because they're family now._

Because they _all_ have a family now.


	5. Chapter 4

**October 11th**

 **Hospital(?)**

 **No idea**

 **Still being debated**

 **Ember**

Beep, Beep, Beep.

It's everywhere and it takes me an embarrassingly amount of time to realize that my eyes are open. Not that you can blame me after the night I've had. There's no haze this time, my body's burnt off most of the morphine and not even its lingering effects can block out what happened last night—at least I think it was last night.

I lost control again.

Mid-surgery I might add.

Did the doctors make it out alive?

Hell, did the Hospital survive? I mean, I seem to recall a distinct lack of things actually catching on fire. Also, if I remember correctly, they actually managed to hold me down long enough to clamp on restraints.

How did they accomplish such a feat without getting burned?

The door opening draws my attention and I watched, curious and a bit dazed, as a middle-aged, dark skinned man enters my room. He moves to stand at the foot of my bed without even looking towards me while he taps away at the tablet in his hands.

He's also got an eye patch.

Arrgh!

Okay, so obviously there's more morphine in my body than I originally thought. If it there wasn't I'm sure I would have been rolling around in agony because—let's not forget—I've been shot!

Multiple times.

I'm pretty sure I look like Swiss cheese.

There are three noticeable—well, more like there are three bullet holes that are causing more pain than the rest. And as the last of the morphine wears off it begins to feel as if someone's dipping their fingers into the holes and twisting. But none of that compares to the feeling of waking up in the middle of a surgery.

Nothing can compare to the pain of the scalpel cutting me open.

Still, as I take into account that I've been shot in my left arm and in multiple areas across my stomach and chest I just can't help but wonder:

How the fuck did I survive?

Not that I'm not happy to be alive but, seriously, what does my hospital bill look like? Shit, will I have to get another job just to pay it off—there goes my college savings. And let's not forget the fact that I'll probably have to undergo a few more surgeries to repair all the damage I'm sure the bullets created.

As if to prove me correct, searing heat spreads across my torso. Right, because I woke up and—possibly—burned down the hospital they never got a chance to actually remove some of the bullets still in me. There's still some lodged in there somewhere.

Man, this is honestly turning out to be the worst day (days?) ever.

Dear Lord!

Did my phone make it?

"What is your name?"

The voice makes me flinch because I'd honestly forgotten that Patchy the Pirate was here. He's dressed in black from head to toe and I shrink under his gaze as the implications of what happened—what I did—finally hits me.

Is he a cop?

Fuck, do they know about me now?

That answer to the question is obvious and I want to face palm at my own stupidity because of course they know! I might have burnt down a hospital for fuck's sake. I may have gotten away with burning down houses in the pass but not a fucking hospital. Especially since they had to tie me down just so the suture up the incision and stop the flames.

Funny, it only took one night of playing 'hero' for them to find out about me.

Will I end up strapped to a lab table for experiments?

"Your name?"

"Ember, Ember Morales," I answer almost mechanically and the familiarity of that question coupled with the grogginess of waking up riddled with bullet holes pull me back to a time where my name wasn't my name. A time where we—the homeless, the unwanted—were lined up like cattle and eager women and men looked us over from head to toe, searching, picking.

"His hair's too curly."

"Her hair's perfect but her eyes are brown. Too plain, I want something that stands out."

"She looks more like a Rose than an Annemarie."

"Why don't they ever have any blondes with blue eyes?"

"Black hair, grey eyes? Interesting. What's your name, honey?"

"My name is Ember Morales, Ma'am."

"Ember? That's not really a name. Tell you what, let's change your name to Vanessa and I'll take you home. How does that sound?"

"But…I like my name, Ma'am."

"None of that, now. From now on you'll be Vanessa. Come on, let's go fill out the paperwork."

"But—"

"Vanessa, come here now!"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Life at God's Haven Orphanage wasn't pretty. But after killing my mother, that's where I ended up, especially since no one knew who my father was.

Fuck!

It's the god damn Morphine and this fucking hospital. They're bringing back memories I'd rather not remember. Because this is it, this is the place I'd end up after every adoption someway somehow but mostly because every house always ended up 'mysteriously' catching on fire.

Though, there was a school once too…

Shit!

I got to get out of here.

Before I can jump from the bed and make my grand escape a woman with fiery red hair and a truly fear inspiring scowl enters the room. As if her scowl didn't make her menacing enough, she's also dressed in black from head to toe and her entire outfit is made of leather.

She means business.

Dread pools in my stomach as she stands next to the door, guarding it without a word to or from Patchy. Okay, this is bad. If I've learned anything from video games and books it's that she's the minion, the enforcer, she's waiting for his orders. Thing is, I can't tell if he's a 'good guy' or a 'bad guy'.

Patchy continues to tap away on his tablet as I study him and Miss Kink. I can't figure them out and before I can decide if I should be worried for my life or not a tall blue-eyed blonde enters the room. He's dressed in black too but his demeanor is a complete one-eighty from Miss Kink and Patchy.

He's relaxed and there's a soft smile on his lips as he moves to stand on the opposite side of the door. Video games have also taught me that looks can be deceiving and I don't let his relaxed appearance get to me as I wait from them to do something.

"Half of this fucken mess still needs to be cleaned up and I have to develop a foolproof cover story for the destruction of Seattle. I don't have motherfucking time for an interrogation right now. Take care of it."

Patchy's voice startles me out of my thoughts and I flinch at the harshness of his voice. I stare after him as he hands the tablet to Blondie and stalks out of the room. Oh, this can't be good. I don't like the sound of this but when you think about it…

A whole city?

I'm not too surprised that they want me interrogated. Hell, I'm more surprised they didn't put me down when they had the chance because this is whole a city we're talking about….population one thousand and something.

My god.

How many dead?

Ice cold fear and dread run though my veins and pools in my stomach as the reality of what I've done hits me like a freight train. Seattle has gone up in smoke and here I am worrying about my phone.

What kind of monster am I?

Marina's safe, right? I heard them call for her so she must be.

She has to be…

"Ember, huh? Original."

The voice is calm; relaxed as if this was nothing more than having a small chat. As if a city hadn't gone up in smoke. As if I hadn't killed all those people. I tense as the blonde makes his way towards me.

"I'm Clint and that's Natasha," he says while taking a seat on the chair next to my bed.

His eyes roam over the tablet as he sits and I chance a quick look at Natasha to find her in the same spot. She hasn't moved and it doesn't look like she's going to as she continues to guard the door.

"So Em, why don't you tell me what happen?" Clint asks and I snap my eyes back to him and find him gazing at me intently. I weigh my choices as he continues to stare at me. I could tell them the truth and possibly end up strapped to a lab table or let them think I'm simply an arsonist and get carted off to jail.

Decisions, decisions.

None sound appealing.

A tense silence settles over us as I refuse to speak because I don't know what to say. Clint says nothing but continues to simile expectantly at me while Natasha doesn't move or make a peep. She just continues to scowl menacingly from besides the door.

I've seen this before. Well, I've seen this situation before; this style of interrogation. She's the menacing one who'll make you anxious and nervous so you'll spill it all out to him, to Clint—the kind, gentle one who'll offer you a way out.

And that's when it hits me.

Good cop, bad cop.

She's not the one to fear, he is because he'll make you feel safe and understood but once he has all the information he needs he'll turn on you. He'll use everything you tell him against you and you'll be left not only hurt but betrayed.

That's worse than anything she can ever do to you.

Thank you , Video games!

"She's got you figured out, Clint," Natasha suddenly says as she pushes away from the wall. Her voice cuts the silence like a whip but I keep from flinching as she moves to the foot of my bed. Clint heaves as sigh as he leans over to pass the tablet to her.

"I wish, Phil was here. He's so much better at this," he says as slumps back into the chair. "Go easy on her, doctor's orders," he mumbles while crossing his arms behind his head and getting comfortable.

"We've already gotten as much information as we could from your accomplice," Natasha says as she ignores Clint and I turn to her as she continues to talk. "Now we need your end of the story so talk. What happened in Seattle the night of the fire?"

"It caught on fire," I answer with a shrug and fight the urge to shrink in on myself as she glares at me while Clint laughs.

"She's got guts, I'll give her that," Clint says through his chuckles and Natasha continues to ignore him as her glare deepens.

"How," she growls out and I try to keep my fear hidden—which is foiled by the fact that a heart monitor's connected to me and is currently broadcasting my speeding heart rate—as I meet her glare head on with one of my own.

"Don't you already know?" I growl out as I grab the control for the bed and move it into a sitting position. "You're not with the police or the FBI so if you're here interrogating me instead of them then obviously you should know at least something."

If Natasha's shocked by my words she doesn't show it. Instead she nods to Clint and taps a few more times on the tablet's screen. Clint hmm's in amusement before he straightens up in his seat and his calm demeanor drops in an instant.

"You're not a mutant," Clint states as he studies me. "You don't carry the X gene and neither does your accomplice. So what are you?" he asks and I squirm under his gaze as both Natasha and he wait for my answer.

An answer I can't give him because I don't know it. I'd heard of the X gene before, in passing, but I knew the moment I'd heard it that it wasn't where my abilities came from because the X gene doesn't normally reveal itself until puberty.

Definitely not at birth.

Besides, I'd been tested for it at God's Haven Orphanage. All the new comers had been tested as more and more cases of it were being discovered. Nobody wanted to adopt a mutant after all.

"I don't know," I answer truthfully as I turn my gaze to my lap. Silence fall over us again while Natasha and Clint process my response. The quiet beep and whirls of the machines connected to me are the only noise in the room as we wait for someone to break the silence.

Though it isn't broken by Natasha or Clint or me. It's broken by the door flying open and a blue blur racing towards my bed while talking a mile a minute.

"Ember! Thank goodness you're finally awake. I was so scared, you weren't waking up, and nobody would tell me what was happening and everybody was asking questions but I couldn't concentrate because you weren't waking up and Mom and Dad were worried but they couldn't come because these people wouldn't let them because they were saying you were dangerous. But you're not, Em, you're not and they wouldn't listen when I kept telling them you weren't and—,"

"Marina, breathe," I say as she reaches me and all but collapses on the side of the bed. She takes a huge breath and I smile as she pants a bit. "I'm fine, well at least I think I am. What happened? Afterwards I mean."

"You were shot," she whispers as tears gather in her teal color eyes and I squirm as I try to find to think of some way to comfort her. I'm not good at it, the whole touchy-feely thing, but I try as best as I can when I see the pain in her eyes.

"I'm fine," I whisper and grab her hand. Hers twines around mine instantly and she smiles faintly before clearing her throat and continuing.

"The whole pace caught on fire and I managed to cover myself with water but I couldn't stop it. It all got blurry after that and next thing I knew we were here—wherever here is—and the doctors were operating on you and they wouldn't let my parents come see you."

So this isn't a hospital?

Well, this explains why it managed to survive if I lost control again or maybe they moved me here after I burnt down a hospital, either way who's'they'? Well, 'they' obviously know just what I can do if they're keeping Marina's parents away and labeling me as dangerous.

So what now?

Am I going to be strapped to a table and dissected so they can figure out just exactly what I am? Are they going to hold us here, captive, with the pretense that we're—I'm too dangerous to be among other humans? Are they going to experiment on Marina too?

Over my dead body.

"I'm sorry."

The words are filled with so much pain and regret that they leave me shocked as I turn to look at Marina. She's normally so bubbly and impulsive that the dark tone of her voice throws me for a loop but before I can ask her what she's talking about she throws herself at me.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Ember. You were right and I should have listen to you because you're always right," she sobs as she wraps her arms around me and it's already the fact that she feels as guilty as she does that keeps me from yelping in pain when my wounded arm is jostled.

"Not your fault," I force out through gritted teeth and chock down moans of pain as her arms tightened around me. "Just listen to me next time, 'kay?"

"'Kay…"

This won't be the end of this, I know it. It'll keep eating at her but it's the best I can do right now with others in the room. I'm not touchy-feely, I don't like being the center of attention, and I hate being around people I don't know and she knows all of this.

So this is enough, for now.

"How long have I been asleep, anyways?" I ask as she pulls back and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. Her eyebrows pull together in concentration as he counts the hours—days, weeks?

"A month."

You've got to be kidding me.

Well, there goes my job.

* * *

 **Nobody's told me**

 **Somewhere with a lot of clouds**

 **Around Noon**

 **Marina**

"So, a month," Ember repeats, shock written all over her face—though you wouldn't know it If you didn't know her. She tires her best to keep all emotion hidden as often as she can so unless you know what to look for you won't see it.

"Yeah."

The fact that she's been in a coma for a month doesn't seem to scare her—she's been in them before—but her heart rate does speed up a bit. It's starts off slow but when it really starts to speed up, as the reality of what this means really hits her, I look towards Clint and Tasha and nudge my head towards the door.

Clint gets up slowly at the nudge; he gets the point that Ember might have some things she'll want to ask, but definitely not in front of strangers. He's been in the same situation—an orphan himself—so he understands that she doesn't trust others easily.

Tasha for her part just stands unyielding in front of the door, her arms still crossed. She's reluctant to leave us alone, firm in her that belief that Ember is dangerous no matter how much I've tried to convince her otherwise.

Thankfully, Clint is more forgiving.

"Well, we'll let you two catch up," he calls over his shoulder as he walks almost lazily out the door. On his way out, he laces his arm into the crook of Tasha's own and pulls her with him. The momentarily look of surprise on her face is priceless and it takes all that I have to stifle my giggle.

Tasha is adorable sometimes, but never let her know you think that.

Giggles (or laughs as was most often the case with Clint these past few weeks) are a sure way of getting something thrown at you. Sometimes it's a book, sometimes it's a knife—how Clint hasn't died after all these years at Tasha's hands, I have no clue.

Once they're gone, I turn back to Ember and happily watch her relax back into her pillows. They're not the most comfortable, or so she had said once, but when you're sore and hurt all over they feel like the marshmallows.

"You comfy?" I ask as she looks around. I don't miss the suspicious look in her eyes as her eyes roam the room. Shoot, I should have been here when she woke up now she won't trust anything or anyone. "If you want, I can get you more pillows."

She shakes her head, declining the offer without a verbal response.

"Oh, Em," I huff, watching as she continues to search the room for anything that shouldn't belong in a standard hospital room. "Please tell me you don't think they bugged you or anything?" I ask slightly exasperated but I know how this girl's mind works and she seriously plays too many video games. Plus, the scene she woke up to probably didn't help things—what with the interrogation I know I walked into but choose to act oblivious to.

"They think I'm dangerous."

Her reasoning is spot on, I'll give her that and I can feel the worry crease my brow, but, no, they wouldn't. After all, she's been unconscious for the past month and there was definitely no need to watch her then. I mean, what did they expect her to do? Walk around in her sleep setting fire to everything?

"Don't worry Emmy. I'm positive they didn't put cameras or anything," I say confident in that fact as I smile at her. She just shakes her head and she changes the subject.

"Are they treating you well? Or do I have to beat someone up?"

I really can't hold back a laugh at that.

Good 'ole Ember. Always watching out for me, even when she's the one that needs to be taken care of right now. Even though she's the one spread out on a hospital and just out of a coma.

"We're all clear, captain. No enemies at the fore," I say around my laugh. She rolls her eyes at me for that and calls me a dork as she gives me a playful shove.

God I missed this. Miss the teasing and snark that is all Ember. Miss her sarcastic comments and just talking to her. I'm so glad she's doing better, I don't know what I'd do without her.

And I almost had to.

A cold chill goes down my back at that, reminding me just why Ember's in a hospital this time. The apologies are once again on my tongue as I watch Ember shift on the bed and then hiss in pain but just before they can spill a nurse walks in.

"Hello, Marina. Hello, Ms. Morales."

She's a petite little thing with bright red hair and light blue eyes. She's been Ember's nurse since the beginning—the only who would work with her after her surgery, the only one who didn't shy way and refuse to so much as go near her room—and I smile at her as she walks in.

"Hey, Katy!" I call. "Em, this is Katy. She's been your nurse for the past weeks. She's really nice, and always let me stay here with you."

Ember, in typical Ember manner, simply gives Katy a curt nod. Katy replies in the same fashion smile still in place as she takes notes on Em's vitals. I talked to Katy before, in the beginning when she first came in, and asked her not to take offense to Ember's slightly abrasive manner.

"You're doing very good," Katy mumbles as she scribbles on her clipboard. "Blood pressure and heart rate are perfect, and your brain waves are looking good too." Ember says nothing, used to being in the situation on more than one occasion. She doesn't even ask question as Katy continues to rattle off her condition. "So are you hungry?"

A low growl suddenly comes from Ember's tummy just as she opens her mouth to respond. I can see her cheeks color up slightly, but not by much.

"Yes, she is," I say, speaking for her. It's habit, one that I picked up in our first years of friendship and one that Ember doesn't mind as she really doesn't like to speak herself. It's a win, win for everyone, really.

Ember gets her point across without talking, I can make sure she doesn't accidentally offend someone, and everyone else gets the answers they want.

"Alrighty then, I'll be right back with your food."

"Thanks, Katy!" I call after her as she leaves the room.

"So I've been getting better?" she asks but the thing with Ember is that you have to look for the double meaning. So when I see the glint in her eye I know she's wondering the same thing as me.

Can we go home soon?

"Yup, you have," I tell her with a reassuring smile. I ignore the unasked question completely because I don't know the answer to it. For all that Clint and Natasha and Phil have been nice to me they're constantly on edge when it comes to Ember.

"You know," Ember begins but she's cut off by a yawn. "I think this is the one thing I hate about comas. You just woke up but you want nothing more than go back to bed."

"You're still recovering, your body's tired," I tell her as I pat her hand gently. "Go ahead and rest. I'll tell Katy to save you your food for later."

She nods and pulls the blanket up to her shoulders. She relaxes into the bed quickly, almost instantly, and suddenly she's in a deep sleep. I chuckle at how she seems able to fall asleep anytime, anyplace.

I watch her for a few minutes while I wait for Katy. Though as time pass I find myself fixing Ember's pillow and, grabbing the controller, moving the bed down until it's at a comfortable sleeping position. Once that's done I stand up to stretch. Though, after ten minutes of that, Katy still doesn't appear. Weird, she should be back already since she left a while ago and the mess hall isn't that far from here. But then again, Em didn't tell her what she wanted to eat.

Maybe she's having trouble choosing!

"Good! That means I can tell her she doesn't have to bring anything after all," I say aloud and plant a quick peck on Em's forehead before I leave. "I'll be right back."

I know she doesn't hear me, but after getting in the habit of talking to her everyday while she slept, it's kind of a hard habit to break.

I exit the room after that and walk down the corridor to the mess halls. I go in the direction Clint and Natasha had shown me the first time we met. They'd been the one to take me on a mini-tour of the building even though no one's ever told me what type of building this is or just where we are.

Hell, they only really showed me how to get to and from the mess hall from Ember's room and where I would be staying. They even warned me once, when I had gotten lost and walked into a place where I wasn't supposed to, to be careful.

'Some places aren't as safe...If you go there, you may need someone to accompany you,' Clint had said, a caring tone to his voice. Though the second time I got lost—I had gone exploring out of boredom and curiosity—he was a bit more stern.

Sure I had deliberately gone exploring but in my defense, I was bored! Plus, how was I supposed to know it was off limits? Well…maybe the fact that there were a lot of locks and more cameras than usual in that area should have tipped me off, shouldn't it?

But, come on. There's not much else to do around here but explore.

I had apologized and things went back as usual after that.

Until, at dinner one day, I had to go to the restroom and I guess I took a wrong turn at some point on my way there. To say Tasha was not happy is an understatement. She was livid! And I'm sure that would have been the end of me if Clint hadn't come looking for me and saved me from her wrath.

As if conjured just by my thoughts, I suddenly come very close to crashing into a particular blonde as I take another turn on my way to the mess hall.

"Woah, there!" Clint yelps as he reaches out and grabs a hold of my shoulders to keep me from falling as I rear back.

"How's your friend?" Natasha asks once Clint and I separate and I beam at her.

"She's much better but she was just really tired so she went back to sleep."

"Well, how about you grab some lunch with us then?" Clint asks.

"Sure! I was heading there anyways to talk to Katy."

"So you were going in the opposite direction to go there?" Clint asks around his laughs while Tasha rolls her eyes.

"Huh?"

A month living here and going to eat everyday and I still don't know my way around the place.

"Come on," Tasha drawls out as she leads me by the shoulders in the right direction.

Once we get there, I excuse myself to find Katy. Though, when I find her I have to wait a bit as I find her talking to a rather cute guy. They're flirting, it's obvious and I give them a moment before interrupting. I quickly tell Katy that she doesn't need to bring Ember food and let them get back to flirting.

"What took you so long?" Clint asks as I sit down next to him and Natasha with my own tray of food.

"Oh, nothing. Just didn't want to interrupt some work place romance," I say as steal the spoon off of his plate when I realize I forgot mine. The instant his eyes widen I can tell he wants details. "Oh, chismoso," I say with a laugh. Tasha gets my attention then when she takes a crunchy bite out of a green apple and I realize it's the only thing she has. "You're not going to eat, Tasha?"

"Natasha, Mar," Clint interrupts, a smirk on his face as he throws his arm over Tasha's shoulder. "Natasha. You know she doesn't like being called nicknames. Isn't that right, Nat?"

The glare Tasha gives Clint then promises pain as she takes slow purposeful bites of her apple while she looks him up down.

These two are just like siblings sometimes.

"So," she drawls out slowly, changing the subject. "When do you think your friend will want to eat?"

"I don't know," I mumble and suddenly I remember Ember's unasked question. "But, I do have something I want to ask you guys. Since Em's awake, does that mean we can leave now?"

Suddenly Tasha won't look at me. She turns her gaze away as she takes another bite, so I turn to Clint. Tasha's awesome but Clint's nicer so I know that if anyone's going to give me an answer it'll be him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, mouth in a small frown. "But we're still trying to figure some things out. Besides, she was out for a month. Don't you think you should give her a bit more time to recuperate?"

He has a point, so I concede.

"But we will be able to leave soon, right?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

A chill runs up by back at that response. When people say that in my favorite show, it usually means something bad. But, come on, Clint has been pretty cool. If Tasha had said that, then maybe I would be a bit more scared, but Clint has been nothing but helpful.

"Okies," I respond. It sounds sad, but I can't help it. I was really hoping they'd say we could go as soon as Ember woke.

* * *

 **Forgot to ask**

 **Not a clue**

 **I think someone said** **2 pm**

 **Ember**

It's says a lot about someone when they've mastered the art of sneaking out of a hospital without getting caught. My near constant hospital visits have made me a pro at disabling the machines without bringing the nurses running and the familiarity of it—the only familiar thing in this whole place besides Marina—brings me an odd sense of peace.

Especially since I almost died!

With practiced ease I disconnect the various machines from both the outlets and my body before moving to the IV. Not a peep is made and the nurses are none the wiser as I slip from the bed and stand on understandably shaky legs.

It's been a month after all. A month without walking or talking and I'm surprise I make it to the door without stumbling or falling. Fatigue washes over me as soon as I reach it though and I consider going back to bed but I'm so bored.

There's only so much of this plain white room anyone can take and I've reached my limit. Marina wandered off some time after I'd fallen asleep and it's not like I'll get into any trouble, right?

At least I don't think I will.

It takes more strength than it should to push the door open—but that could be because of my weakened state—and once I wrestle the door open I step out into the deserted hallway. There's no one in sight and—unlike my room—the walls are an odd gray color.

But it's not painted on. The walls are metal.

The walls are smooth and cool under my fingers as I run them across them. Why would a hospital have metal walls? Or floors for that matter? The cold floor feels like ice under my bare feet as I walk but I pay no attention to it and make my way down the hall while ignoring the doors lining the walls.

It's quiet.

Too quiet.

My footsteps echo down the hall while I strain to hear anything, a peep, a groan, hell I'll take a scream right about now. This place is too silent and if it weren't because I know Marina's around here somewhere I would have thought it abandoned.

It's the knowledge that Marina's around that keeps me calm as the silence threatens to swallow me. Silence, I hate it. I can't stand it, it cause shivers to crawl up and down my spine while fear and dread pools in my stomach because silence is never good.

Growing up the way I did—in an orphanage—instills a different type of fear in you and I fear the silence because I've learned to never expect anything good from it. Because silence means the nuns are mad, adopters are here, more kids have arrived.

Silence means trouble's brewing in the horizon.

I've never missed or needed my phone so much in my life.

It's takes a lot to keep moving as the fear makes my heart race and my palms get clammy. When I reach the end of the hall the only thing keeping me going is a chant of, "I'm not there. I'm safe. I'm not there."

I look down the intersecting halls and it's only because a faint beep sounds from the left that I head that way. The beeping grows stronger the further I continue down the hall and it's not until I come to a wall made entirely of glass that I spot the source of the beeping.

Machines whirl and click and beep while a lone bright light shines, illuminating a figure in the otherwise empty and dark room. It's a man, at least it looks like a man but his skin's an unnatural blue and he's thin, too thin, with more tubes and wires connected to him than I've ever seen or experienced.

But he's glowing, under that lone light. Even as thin and as fragile as he is, he's glowing and I watch as his chest slowly, slowly rises and falls. The machine's continues to beep and whirl and clink but I can't pull my eyes away.

Because he's glowing.

There's bumps on his skin, dark blue narrow ridges that curve and twist and turn across his skin, his hair's a pitch black that blends into the darkness in his room, but it's his face—turned towards the ceiling—that I can't look away from.

Even in sleep, his face is scrunched in pain, pain I understand too well and I know—deep down inside—that if he opened his eyes, there'd be a haunted look in them.

Is he a mutant?

Wouldn't be surprised if he was since we're in the same location and they were probably certain I was too when they first brought me here. So is this some type of mutant holding facility? Hell, were they experimenting on him?

He's too thin, too weak, whatever this place is they're trying to keep him alive. If they were using him for experimentation, they wouldn't have cared if he lived or die and certainly wouldn't have wasted resources on keeping him alive.

I really play too many video games.

"What are you doing here?"

The voice startles me as it harshly breaks the silence and I flinch violently. After I finally get my racing heart under control I turn towards the owner of the voice and want nothing more than to crawl into the nearest hole because he's big.

Really big.

He towers over me and I fight to keep myself from running as I take him in. He's muscular, overly so, with short blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Eyes that bore into mine as if they're accusing me of all the bad things I've ever done and as they stare into me I have to force myself not to beg for forgiveness.

"I, um, I was looking for a nurse and, um, got a little lost," I stutter out when the silence gets to be too much again. "But I think I came from that direction so I'll be going now," I mumble the last part and scuttle back the way I came without any promoting.

I get to my room without any incidents but I'm two seconds away from collapsing where I stand. I'm exhausted and as I climb into the bed I don't bother to connect the machines back to myself or the outlets. Instead I curl up under the thin blankets and let the silence swallow me as my eyes close.

And dream of fire.

And Ash.

And red, red, red.

* * *

 **ICU**

 **Hell Carrier**

 **4 pm**

 **The Avengers**

"She's not what you'd expect, I'll give you that."

The voice is soft, contemplating, and the speaker—one Clint Barton—even goes so far as to rub his chin thoughtfully as he dishes out the dirt on the S.H.I.E.L.D.'S newest—to be—member to one Tony Stark. Tony, himself is to be found lounging on the chair next Clint, eager eyes wide as he hangs off his every word.

"What do you mean? What exactly were you expecting? A fire breathing dragon?" One Steve Roger asks almost cautiously as he gives the gossipers a once over from his chair across the room. He's sitting next to one—distraught and grief-stricken—Thor, ready to offer comfort and support at a moment's notice.

"With that amount of damage, almost," Clint admits with a light blush on his face which he tries to cover up with a casual shrug. "Honest, for a second I thought I'd get to become the next Dragon Slayer," Clint says enthusiastically and even goes so far as to stand on his chair and nock an invisible arrow on his pretend bow. "I would have gotten her too," Clint says confidently as he lets the pretend arrow fly.

"Clam down there, Legolas," One Natasha Romanoff teases as she shoves Clint back into his chair before he can hurt himself. "I'll admit I'm a little surprised myself," Natasha agrees as she examines her sharp nails for any cracks in the shiny, red polish. "With her track record I fully expected one of use to come out of there a little crispy."

"Crispy? Wait, she didn't attack?" Tony asks and looks even more confused when they both nod. "I thought we were dealing with someone 'bad', how would she not attack if she isn't 'evil'?" he asks almost excitedly, he hasn't had an equation or even a good riddle to solve since he's been in the Hell Carrier.

He misses his home and lab and king sized bed, hell, he even misses Dummy. Don't get him wrong, he's worried about Loki—he helped save him after all—but he hates hospitals for, cough, personal reasons (Mom? Dad? Don't leave, please don't leave me). And because they're always so boring with nothing to challenge the mind and the Hell Carrier's no different.

"Maybe 'cause she just came out of a coma and was too tired to attack? She did get shot multiple times after all," Clint suggests but knows that can't be it even before Tony starts to shakes his head in denial. "Alright Mr. Boy Genius, what's your theory."

"Think about it. She managed set a whole room on fire mid-fucking-operation. Obviously her being too tired is not it," he says as he stands and begins to pace the room because it helps him think, get's the blood flowing and all that. "From what I heard it was because of the incision. Everything was going good, no flames anywhere in sight and they even went so far as wash all the ash off of her. Everything was good until they cut her up. Then they—the flames—just started flowing out like, like, like—"

"Like blood."

The answer comes from besides the monitors and all eyes turn to find one Bruce Banner staring thoughtfully off into the distances. There's a slight horrified look in his eyes and whatever conclusion he comes to must be terrible, downright atrocious, because he turn wide haunted eyes towards Tony and mumbles, 'It's in her blood. It's in her blood just like me.'


	6. Chapter 5

**October 15** **th**

 _ **Someone said...a Helicarrier? Whatever that is**_

 _ **For sure not in any state**_

 _ **11 am**_

 _ **Marina**_

"As you can see, you were shot in your arm and three times in your chest," the doctor comments as he hangs the x-rays. He points to each of the bullet wounds as he talks.

"That right there costs $103,452 to remove," he says as he points to an object that sits in the middle of Ember's torso. "It's a piece of metal we can only assume formed when the...fire melted the bullets, and needs to be removed before you get an infection.

"We would have removed it as soon as you came in but, since we had to stop mid-surgery because of…dangers at the time, we now have to go back," the doctor says and rubs tiredly at his face while he lets out a heavy sigh. "I have never in my life dealt with going into a surgery to retrieve multiple bullets, but ending up having to get a single—and rather large—piece of metal in a later operation."

He looks tired, worn out. The bags under his eyes tell of restless nights, and the way he rubs his temples is a clear sign of a building headache.

We stare at the x-rays in silence. One shows her wounds prior to the first surgery, and the other shows the bullets every surgery since. Ember stares at them; I can see her calculating gaze and realize something's wrong.

"Okay, so I was a pain to stitch up. Bottom line, what's the damage?"

He sighs and takes out a notepad.

"Because of the multiple surgeries, the time you spent in your coma, and the damage to the hospital itself you've caused, I'd say it's well over...," he pauses as he types some more numbers into a calculator and flips through papers. "Eight hundred thousand."

I can feel myself blanch. Ember starts to chew on the inside of her lip. The doctor's finger starts twitching as he tries to maintain eye contact.

"Who the fuck told you to fix me!" Ember yells, catching me off guard as sudden outbursts like that are unlike her. Not that I blame her. The fee is ridiculous and damn near impossible to pay off with our meager salaries. Still, I tap her knee under the table to calm her down before she can say—or do, as the doctor seems to fear—anything else.

"We don't have that kind of money," I tell the doctor quietly, desperately, because we really don't and not even my parents can help us now. While they've helped us from time to time, eight hundred thousand dollars is even out of their income. "How are we supposed to...to pay you guys? Especially when we can't even leave."

"I'm sure there's something that the director can arrange," he says, just as quietly as I did but there's something in gaze that keeps me from immediately thanking him for the information. His mouth is set in a tight frown, eyes narrowed the tiniest bit and even I don't miss the way he hesitates—almost as if he's trying to convince himself that whatever happens next is not his fault—as he adds, "honestly, I'm just here to treat patients and tell them what's going to happen from there."

I give a small smile of understanding, ignoring the odd pity on his face because this is still terrifying. If they would just let us leave, we could work. Heck, I'll quit school! I'll work every day of my life if that's what it takes for us to be able to go home.

"Sir, how long do you think it'll take for us to be able to leave? I mean, Ember seems to be doing better now. And we'll work. I promise we'll pay everything back."

Ember's hands are white as she keeps them fisted in her lap. Though we're sitting, she's on the balls of her feet, and I know it's taking all she has not to get up. Not to run. Not to attack whoever it is that's making sure we're like rats in a cage.

That's just how she sees it.

I know it's hard to see how this is necessary, keeping us away from everything we've ever known and everyone we love _. I_ don't even see why it's necessary. But we have to be respectful, if not submissive. Who knows what they've got hidden in their sleeves.

"Where's the director's office?"

I snap my head towards her; all I can think is, ' _Oh_ , _no_...'

"Em?" I ask quietly. I put my hand over hers but pull it back when I feel the sizzling heat. "Ember," I say more sternly this time.

The doctor visibly shakes as he ran rambles directions.

With that, she's off.

"Ember!" I call once more.

The chair she was just sitting in is now toppled over, the door to the doctor's office slams as she runs out. I trip as I try to follow her so, once I'm finally out the door, she's already gone.

"God dang it! Why do these halls all have to look alike?" I yell, looking for her. But she's gone. No trace of her, and no way to help her if she gets too mad.

 _'Aye, Em. Please don't do anything that opens your scars.'_

* * *

 _ **Like I give a fuck**_

 _ **I just want to go home**_

 _ **Who the fuck cares?**_

 _ **Ember**_

"We've been watching you longer than you think."

Files, documents, pictures, birth certifies and a handful of death ones lay in front of me. Haphazardly thrown onto the table in a fit of rage and I stare numbly down at them as my eyes trail over the various pictures of me.

Me walking down the street, pushing a cart down an aisle, ringing up a customer. Marina's in there too, trailing after me on our walk, throwing chips into the cart, climbing into my baby blue, Toyota, Corolla.

"Did you really think no one would notice the mysterious fires that you were always the sole survivor of?"

There's a cruel, mocking tone in that voice and I flinch before I can stop myself.

"The only reason you haven't been prosecuted for arson is because of us. Because we took over the investigation before they could send you to rot in a jail. Now, I think you owe us a bit of thanks for that, don't you?"

I say nothing and continue to look at the papers in front of me, moving my gazes to study the hospital and police reports. They're the most abundant, not including the death certificates—which I refuse to so much as glance at.

Dallas, Albuquerque, Phoenix, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Portland, and now Seattle. It's my personal path of destruction and suffering and I remember each and everyone.

How can I forget?

 _They've been branded in my mind._

 _"Don't you?"_

The voice lashes out like a whip and I find myself ducking my head and muttering a quiet, ' _Yes Sir_ ,' more out of habit than anything else. He leans over the desk and I can feel his only eye boring into me as I study my hands on my lap but refuse to look up. How can I since I've barged into his office unannounced, cursing and demanding and acting like an outright brat, when this man—unknowingly—kept me out of jail?

"Good, now remind me again why you're here?" he asks and there's something in his voice that promises unimaginable pain if I so much as dare to voice my demands again. I say nothing and continue to stare down at my hands even as he leans back with a nod. "That's what I thought. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s done a lot for, Ember, and while it all might have been done in secret you owe us your life. Now I'm sure we'll be able to work something out, yes?"

I nod dumbly in reply before allowing my gaze to slip towards my birth certificate.

It matters little that they've managed to get their hands on it. Odd, isn't? Here I am, the orphanage and there sits the one piece of paper that holds all the information I could ever hope to find on where I came from and yet I don't feel the need to snatch it up and read it. A simple glance is all I give it before once again shifting my gaze from it.

Why?

Because there's nothing that piece of paper can offer. All that's written on it is my name and date of birth. Nothing more, nothing less. No birth parent's names, no place of birth—though I'm kind of thankful for that one _(no one needs to know just where I was born)_ —not even the time of birth. No, there's nothing on there for me to know so I let my gaze trail to my school records, barely visible under the pile of papers.

My transcript peeks out from behind my birth certificate and I hold back the urge to lean forward and dig it out. I always did wonder what my grade for senior math had been since I never really got the chance to find out. Life hand been hectic after graduation and the move to Washington hadn't been easy.

Funny how I find a simple transcript more interesting than my birth records.

"Name your price."

It's a line I've always wanted to say but never gotten a chance to actually use. Though now the perfect opportunity sits in front of me and I'm not about to waste one of my favorite video game lines. And, maybe it's because I'm mentally living in a video game right now—this whole thing has just been fucking bonkers—that his terms don't surprise me. It's oddly expected and I nod my head thoughtfully mostly because it just makes so much fucking sense that he would want _that_.

With the way things have been going I'm more surprised that I haven't had to whip out some guns from thin air and beat a boss.

"You've been considered too dangerous to be allowed to roam free anymore," he says and this is the part where I begin to nod thoughtfully and even go so far to rub at my chin. "And the council has decided that the threat—" me of course "—be either secured or eliminated," he pause for dramatic effect here and I have to keep myself for laughing as he, no doubts expects a surprised gasped. Not that I give it to him. "The choice is yours."

 _Oh! That's my all time favorite line._

"I'm gonna have to pass on both."

Now, I know that isn't the correct—or sane—response to give but between the expected response of, _"No, please, I want to live"_ or _,"I'd rather die than join you"—_ which is a hell of a lot cooler and, quite honestly, my first choice of the two—it's the best one I can think of that will, hopefully, throw him of kilter and stop this whole 'video-game-thing'. Because—as much as I love them—this is starting to get annoying.

 _I want a normal conversation now, please! Preferably one where some weird pirate isn't trying to get me to join his scurvy crew._

"That isn't an option," he snarls and I hold back my flinch as he once again leans over the desk to glower at me. As cowardly as it is I still refuse to meet his gaze and instead shift my eyes to the next documents to catch my attention. Adoption Annulment papers, great, just what I need, a reminder of all the people that _didn't_ want me. "Maybe I didn't make myself clear enough. You either agree to join S.H.I.E.L.D., where we'll make sure you'll never hurt anyone ever again, _or_ we'll come at you with everything we have. _Everything"_

"Does that include Captain America?"

The words are out before I can fully think them through or stop them and I wince as I expect the tongue lashing of a lifetime. Particularly because I've been reduced to nothing more than sarcastic remarks and witty comments when what we're discussing is more than serious.

 _My life's on the line here!_

But I can't help myself! I'm annoyed, irate, and just so ready to start chopping off heads. I mean, I get it; they saved my hide and brought me back from the brink of death but is this really necessary? This whole 'join-or-die' charade? Can't they just ask me to pay off my hospital bills with manual labor like normal people?

It'd be hell of a lot easier and less creepy.

And then, if they really want to keep me here and away from civilians, they could tax 25% interest onto that six digit bill, pay me only the required minimum, and keep me here forever. Fuck, I'm more of a mastermind than they are and I have half a mind to tell them just to see the look on their face. But then again, I would like to go home sometime within the next year.

"Look, I get," I say before he can scold me and finally look up to lock gazes with him. His face is scrunch up in anger as he looms over me but I ignore it and meet his glare head on. "I fucked up, killed a lot of people, and am two seconds away from being put down. _I get it_ ," I continue and finally shift my gaze down to the death certificates that number in the hundreds—maybe even pass that. "But you seriously can't expect me to—logically—join you just because you tell me to. I need to know what I'll be getting myself into if I agree to join you."

He seems taken aback by my answer and even pulls back from leaning over the desk in surprise. I guess he really wasn't expecting me to ask for the _Terms and Conditions_ to my staying here and I'm kind of surprised about asking myself. Well, I would be if I hadn't been having the day I have.

Patchy stares at me stunned for a second before he looks down towards the mess of papers he created and begins to shift through them. Papers flutter to the ground as he pushes them aside but he ignores them and continues to dig until he finally reaches the bottom of the pile and uncovers a sleek black data pad. He hands it to me without a word and I give it skeptical once over even though I take it at once.

"In there you will find everything you'll need to know," he says as I start blankly at the data pad. "It states where you'll be housed during your stay with us, the things you will be prohibited from doing, and what will be expected of you from here on out," he continues and I'm kind of scared to read it now. "It also lists what will happen if you decline."

 _ **Helicarrier**_

 _ **Over an Ocean**_

 _ **1 pm**_

 _ **Marina**_

The clatter of trays sliding on tables and utensils sliding across each other fills the air. The chewing is so loud, it's practically white noise, indiscernible unless you actually choose to pay extra attention. Some laughter resounds in one corner, but for the most part everyone is down to business here. They all just want to eat and then go back to whatever important job they're on.

I, however, sit nervously in the back corner, chewing on my thumb as I search the ocean of faces looking for a specific someone.

I really wish Tasha were here. She's always so stoic, and that helps me relax when I'm nervous. Not to mention, her eagle eyes would be greatly appreciated right now.

Hell, I wish Clint were here just so he could make fun of how much I'm worrying and tell me I just need to calm down.

I rub the palm of my hands over my eyes to help release some of the building pressure in my skull, but it's no use.

 _'Oh, what did you get yourself into, Ember?'_ I ask myself, horrible images running rampant in my head.

What if the director got pissed off at her and threw her in a jail?

What if she got so mad she accidentally attacked him and they decided to kill her?

What if they decided they're going to experiment now since we keep annoying them with our constantly asking when we can leave?!

I take a deep breath to try to get rid of these thoughts, and release it through clenched teeth.

"Geez, you sound just like the automatic doors at PetSmart," a voice to my left tells me.

I laugh in relief, glad to hear that voice, and mouth a quiet thank you to the heavens above.

"Oh, shut up," I jokingly tell Ember as I lightly punch her shoulder. She flinches, but laughs, letting me know I didn't hurt her all that much.

"So, what happened with the director?" I question after a minute. She doesn't look at that rattled, and she seems much more at ease than she did earlier. Clearly, she talked with him. Hopefully he gave good news.

She discreetly licks her lips as she stares ahead, and solemnly responds, "He gave us options."

She sighs quietly, deep in thought, so all I do is nod.

If they're terrible, she'll tell me. And if they're good, she'll tell me. Either way, she'll tell me what happened, and then we'll make an informed decision together.

"You wanna grab something to eat?" I ask her once I hear her stomach quietly growl.

She nods and stands up at the same time I do. We head over and grab some fruit and the main course of the day, mac and cheese. How these agents can get through lunch on just that wimpy little meal, I don't know. But it probably has a lot to do with the fact that none of the agents have to pay.

They just go up for grub whenever they're hungry, and can eat as much as they want; though, few overeat since that would make them drowsy and not as effective. Or so Clint explained one day. I can't be sure when it comes to him. For all I know, he was probably just stealing some poor newbies food and waving it off as "they give us however much we want" that day!

While in line, we don't really talk. We grab what we want, and on occasion race each other for a particular item. The last peanut butter cookie for instance? Yeah, I lost that one. But they had white macadamia nut too so it's all good.

Em has her bowl of mac and cheese, a bright red apple, and a cup of water. I on the other hand have my own bowl of mac and cheese, a medium sized green apple, and an apple juice box. Makes me feel like we're little kids on a field trip, to be honest, but I like it.

We sit in the spots we were sitting in earlier and start to eat quietly. Ember is eating slowly, obviously lost in thought. That's made even clearer when she starts to slide her spoon around in the cheesy mess rather than eating it.

Okies, maybe the options aren't as great as I thought. Then, I look around.

There's nothing really interesting happening considering everyone here is eating and down to business. I peek at Ember from the corner of my eye before taking another spoonful and suddenly I notice how quiet the room is. I follow the sound of the whispers and the uneasy stillness backwards until I find the source. When I do, my mouth hangs open and my spoon clatters down on the tray.

"... Ember," I call, as I spot the group of people now in the middle of the room. She doesn't respond so I call again, excitement seeping in. "Ember." I grab her arm and start tapping her elbow.

"Oh my god, Ember, look!" I practically yell in excitement.

There in the middle of the room is a group of men I've dreamed of meeting ever since I saw them in the news saving New York.

To the left is a tall blonde with long locks. His hair is loose and he looks disheveled, but I can clearly tell he was the one who wore armor and was flying around with a hammer.

Besides him is the infamous _Tony Stark_. I heard a lot about him over the years since I've had a lot of friends who were anti-war, and even more anti-Stark since he used to supply so many weapons. He seems pretty cool now ever since he said he was Iron Man though. Right now, for instance. He's smiling and looks like he's trying to crack jokes. Unfortunately Thor doesn't seem to be paying much attention.

I wonder why he's so worried.

Oh, hey! What do you know, guess who just joined the group; Clint! He looks like he's laughing at Mr. Stark's jokes now. Maybe he's trying to help Thor feel comfortable laughing along?

Laughter _is_ the best medicine after all, and he seems like he needs a heavy dose of it.

The next closest person I can see is a man in glasses and a jumble of papers in front of him. He looks very serious. I've never seen a man with that many worry lines yet that young before... Geez, I wonder what's going on.

"That must be Mr. Banner," I whisper aloud. I've been a science geek for years, so when I heard about a real life Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, I was all over those articles. I know all about Dr. Bruce Banner and his work with gamma radiation thanks to that, though I do still feel very sorry for him. I can't even imagine what it's like to have to lose everything, even the person you love the most, just because of some lab mistake.

Now that I think about it, I wonder why they have him here right now. Is there problems with gamma radiation in the building? Is someone else becoming Hulk too?! Oh, gosh. I really admire the man, I do. But his alter ego terrifies me...

A commanding voice suddenly whispers, "Breathe," besides me, and that's when I finally realize that in my excitement, I forgot to the most base of acts.

I turn to Ember and see her giving me an odd look.

"What's wrong?" she asks me. I can't even begin to tell her how excited I am because, I mean, these are the people I've been idolizing and wanting to emulate for the past two years! If I open my mouth, I know all that'll come out is going to be a loud ass screech, and I can't have that. They'll hear me, turn this way, and think I'm a freak who they never want to interact with.

I start gesturing in the direction, very aware that I probably look like a crazy woman thanks to my wide-eyed look, but I'm not a casual person. I am not, in fact, even a _calm_ person. I have no chill, and that is something I didn't realize just how bad I was with until right now.

 _Steve Rogers..._

If I've been idolizing the rest of the group for this long, I've been worshiping _him_ for years!

My dad was a very big Captain America fan growing up, so that love was passed on to me. But unlike my dad, my love was more than just admiration, and it's as I stare at him from across the room that I feel my heart start trying to jump out of my chest and my breath catch in my throat.

I hear Ember slightly hiss, but it's not until I feel her nails biting into my thigh that I jump and look at her.

I can feel a smile burning my cheeks and I'm pretty sure I may have let out an inhumane noise right now, but I don't care.

Now, what I do care about is the fact that I just accidentally opened one of the sutures in her arm.

"Oh my god, Ember, I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me!"

She scoffs and rolls her eyes at me before saying, "don't worry."

I quickly grab a ton of napkins and put pressure on her wound to help stop the bleeding. I don't even worry about having to avoid looking towards my favorite rag tag group of heroes as we quickly get up and head towards her room.

Once there, I immediately push the button besides Em's bed to page Katy. Not even two minutes pass before she comes in to see what's wrong, and when she does, she immediately gets down to business.

She stitches Em up much faster than I would thought possible and leaves a message for the doctor about what happened. She laughs when she hears my fan-girling was the cause of the reopening, and jokes about how the next unfortunate person to be next to me on the day I ever talk to the Avengers will end up even worse.

"You'll send them to the hospital for sure," She giggles and Em cracks a small, unnoticeable smile at that, but says nothing.

"Sorry," I mumble once again morosely. I really need to learn how to at least hold a bluff.

In the middle of the calm, a sudden tapping on the door catches our attention. When we look up, a fiery head full of red hair pops out from behind the door. "I won't take long. I have a question that needs answering is all."

"What's up?" I ask Natasha.

She only shakes her head at me and looks at Ember as she takes three wide steps into the room.

She's here for business, as evidenced by her demeanor and posture.

Her arms are crossed and there's a hard set to her face as she looks our trio up and down intimidatingly.

A quiet tenseness fills the air and it's only once Katy excuses herself that the suffocating discomfort of waiting for something to happen is broken.

Tasha watches at Katy leaves and once she's out of the room, she finally says what she's been meaning to say.

"We have to know what preparations to make. We expect your response by midnight."

Em nods curtly, grim look plastered on her face.

And with that, Tasha's gone.

 _This can't be good..._

* * *

 _ **Helicarrier**_

 _ **Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean**_

 _ **2 pm**_

 _ **The Avengers**_

"That was harsh."

Clint voices drifts across the empty halls, bouncing off the walls, and echoing down from where he sits in an air duct. Natasha doesn't even have to look up to know he's in there. It's just a given that, when Clint wants to shirk his duties, the best place to look for him is in the ventilation system.

"Do you _want_ me to drag you to Phil."

Just like it's a given that, when Clint needs to be hunted down and brought to Phil for scolding over his shirked responsibilities, Natasha is the one sent to drag him out of said air ducts. She's the only one flexible enough to do it really.

Clint instantly quiets at the threat so the sound of her heels clicking against the metal floor is the only noise Natasha hears as she makes her way down the hall. Though Natasha isn't naïve enough to believe Clint isn't following after her because Clint can be as quiet as a mouse when he wants to be.

It's why he's so good at what they do.

Clint's words circles in circle in Natasha's head as she walks. She knows why he said it. They've been together long enough that she doesn't have to analysis his words. She knows without having to ask why Clint's been making nice with the Marina and why he's pushed her to do the same. You see, Clint...Clint was like that too when Phil picked him off the streets—lost and alone. So more often than not they've found him sympathizing with people who've been in his situation.

 _Especially the fire starter._

Lost, alone, _and_ an orphan?

She's be surprised if Clint _didn't_ see himself in her.

"She's dangerous," Natasha finally says after a lengthy silence. They're only a few feet from Loki's room now and she can see the others have returned as well through the giant observation window.

Clint doesn't answer and Natasha would have thought he'd made a break for it before she could make good on her threat. Except that the door to Loki's room suddenly swings open before she can close her hand around the knob and Clint all but drags her in. She finds herself pinned against the wall before she even knows what's happening, Clint pressed tight against her back with a knife pressed lightly at her throat.

" _We're_ dangerous," is all Clint says before he lets her go as suddenly as he's grabbed her.

 _Well, he's got her there._

"She's killed thousands."

Clint just gives her a look. The same one _she_ usually gives _him_ that obviously questions one's intelligence and she knows he's got her once again.

"Do you really want me to tally up your death count?" he asks as he takes a seat on the comfy couches—perfect for sleeping in—placed there especially for them for them.

The others watch them curiously from their spots around the room, wondering what's got Clint unsettled enough to attack Natasha. Especially since Clint hasn't dare to so much as spar with her after Loki's mind control had caused him to savagely attack her.

They all know he's still hasn't completely forgiven himself for hurting her even if it was out of his control.

"Every...everything okay with you two?" Steve asks cautiously as he watches Natasha throw a glare at Clint. Seeing those two at odd is just so...odd that Steve doesn't know how he should react. Or if he'll need to break up a fight soon.

Tony, for his part, cautiously and discreetly toes his way behind Steve because he _so_ doesn't want to get caught in the middle of a Clint/Natasha fight. Those two fight dirty and it's a well known fact that Natasha always goes for the family jewels.

"Clint seems to have adopted another one," Natasha says, glare in place and arms crossed as she looks at the man in question.

"Clint has done what now?" Tony question, confusion in his voice but he's ignored as the door swings open and all eyes turn to watch Phil throw the door open with an almost panicked look on his face.

"Please tell me I misheard you," Phil pleads as soon as he enters but, when all Natasha does is shake her head, Phil groans and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "Really Clint, the fire starter? Why couldn't you pick the other one?" he asks because he knows without having to ask exactly which one Clint would choose. The problematic one, the lost one, the god damn Orphan.

Clint doesn't answer, just gives an indignant huff and looks off to the side with his arms crossed tightly against his chest.

"Clint adopted the fire starter?" Tony questions but he's once again ignored by the only people who seem to know what's going on as Phil takes a seat across from Clint. "Isn't she well over eighteen?"

"She dangerous Clint," Phil says, eyes locked with Clint's.

"So was Natasha but you let me keep her when I brought her in," Clint grumbles, slight pout on his lips and Tony can't shake the image of child Clint grumbling about being unable to keep his new puppy.

"Natasha wasn't unstable," Phil says while running another hand through his hair. "Ember is. You saw what she did to Seattle just because of one slip in control—"

"They were being held at gun point!" Clint yells, rising to his feet as he stares down at Phil with a look of disgust. "What did you want her to do? Stand there and be beaten and…and… _who are you?_ " Clint asks, betrayal written all over his face as he continues to stare down at Phil. "And what have you done to Phil, because the Phil _I_ know, _my Phil_ , wouldn't condemn someone to death for something out of their control.

"Hell, if all of you agree with _him,_ " Clint sneers as he finally turns his attention to the rest of the Avengers. "Then I should be put down for what I did to Nat, for attacking the Helicarrier and helping Loki escape, for killing all those people."

"Clint—"

"No, I'm tired of this," Clint snaps, cutting Steve off and backing away when he moves towards him. "I'm tired of all of you looking down at her and judging her over something she has little to no control over," he says as he turn on his heel and marches to the door.

"Whether it ten or a thousand, I've killed innocents too so I'll be in my room, waiting," he says but pauses at the door to throw a glare over his shoulder. "Just don't make it too bloody. I wouldn't want the janitor to have such a hard time cleaning up my insides."

The room is dead silent as he finally leaves the and while Tony knows something serious has just gone down and he really should keep his trap shut, he can't help himself. He just _has_ to know.

"So…Clint's got a thing for adopting strays?"

Tony Stark is the world's biggest _chismoso_ , after all.

* * *

End Notes:

Chismoso = Gossiper

 _The Avengers Section Is Based On The HeadCanon That Clint Tends To Adopt Strays:_

post/121086109257/squeaky-fangirl-anthemofthefates


	7. Chapter 6

**AN:** An Avenger-centric chapter!

Here we take a look into what the Avengers feel and think about the girls.

* * *

 **October 15** **th**

 _ **ICU**_

 _ **Helicarrier**_

 _ **1:34 pm**_

 _ **All the Avengers Minus Clint**_

"So…Clint's got a thing for adopting strays?"

It's a miracle that Natasha's glare doesn't set Tony on fire as she throws the full weight of her annoyance behind it. Tony doesn't even flinch; he's too used to being on the receiving end of Natasha's pee inducing glare after well over a year of living together in the Avenger's Tower.

Instead he keeps his eyes on Phil, willing the man to talk because if there's anyone who'll be able to answer that question it'll be the man who knows Clint like the back of his hand but Phil says nothing.

He still sits on one of the comfy couches staring after the long gone Agent with a distraught look on his face. Everything in him wants to chase after him. To promise him that, yes, he can keep the fire starter just as long as he promises to keep her out of trouble and pick up after her.

 _It's like Natasha all over again._

(Except, this time, they won't have to worry about finding body parts strewn across the base. No, this time they'll have to worry about the whole base exploding.)

But he can't, he won't lie to Clint like that. He's never lied to the boy (man) before and he's not about to do it now because it's not his decision to make. After such wide spread destruction and death, the girl's fate now lies solely in the hands of The Council.

Which does not look good.

Fury's managed to stave them off though. Asked them to give him a month to put together a case before they voted on what should be done with the girl. Phil knows Fury will be using that time to try to prove that, with some training, Ember's abilities can be controlled. But, even with Fury fighting for the girl's life, Phil can't bring himself to tell Clint that he'll be able to keep the girl.

Not when the possibility of The Council wanting her disposed of is still very likely.

"She's an Orphan," Phil finally says, voice thick with emotion as he finally answers Tony's question and has to pause to clear his throat. "Lost and alone and Clint's always had a soft spot for those who are just like he used to be," he says, giving Natasha a long, hard look when the assassin scoffs. "He vouched for you too."

"Yes, but I wasn't _that_ dangerous," Natasha all but growls.

"You know twenty different ways to kill someone with a _paper clip_ ," Phil says, disbelief coloring every inch of his voice. "Ember just explodes when she gets angry and, from what I've gather by talking with Marina, it's only in extreme situations."

"Extreme?" Steve asks, taking a seat next to Phil now that the tension is dissolved. Don't get him wrong, he's worried about Clint and they're going to have to figure out what to do about the situation soon but, at the moment, he's interested in learning more about the mysterious fire starter that blew up all of Seattle.

"Every situation in which she lost control has been because of either an immediate threat to her life or another's," Phil says, hand rubbing over his face. "Fury's been keeping an eye on her for a while now and, from what I read in her file, she's been in the system since she was born. Been bounced from home to home too and while we all like to assume the homes these children end up in are safe we all know that's not always the case..."

"How bad?" Bruce asks as he moves closer to the group after having finished checking on Loki status. There's no change, there hasn't been for a while and, at this point, they're not sure if it's good or not. Damn Frost Giants and their backwards anatomy.

"The file didn't go into too much detail," Phil says, realizing that he now has the attention of the entire group and if he's going to attempt to sway them to Clint's way of thinking now would be the time. He just hopes the girls won't mind that he's using the pity card to do it. "She came from God's Haven Orphanage."

When all he gets are blank stares he realizes that they don't get the severity of that statement.

"God's Haven Orphan was established sometime in the late 1880's," Phil begins, recalling the horrible story he'd read when his curiosity had gotten the better of him and he'd googled the god forsaken orphanage. "It was one of the few that continued to run as an orphanage instead of converting into a boarding school or the like as the rest did after World War II. It was what drew the attention of the authorities, of course, but the place wouldn't be shut down for another seventy years.

"For seventy more years _Babies_ with even the tiniest defect would be drowned. Those that weren't drowned would be abused and starved, teenagers would be forced to work themselves to the bone and have their paychecks swindled by the Orphanage. Those that managed to survive the abuse and neglect would be sold to the highest bidder, and not to loving parents. No, they were sold to drug cartels, human traffickers. God Haven's Orphanage was infamous for that alone."

"There's more?" Tony asks; voice barely a whisper and skin pale as he watches Phil with wide eyes.

"The girls that weren't _"Adopted"_ were kept and passed around," Phil mumbles, eyes on the floor as he rests his elbows on his knees and his chin on his intertwined hands. "The original owner of the Orphanage was a _Procurer_ and his _habits_ were passed down from generation to generation."

"Why did it take so long for them to shut it down?" Steven asks, face red as he jumps to his feet and paces the room angrily. There's fury in his voice as he asks, "Why, if this was going on for so long, was it not shut down sooner?"

"Hush money can be a powerful weapon," Phil whispers into the quiet room.

 _ **Room 300**_

 _ **Helicarrier**_

 _ **2:03 pm**_

 _ **Clint**_

He sits on his bed, elbows on his knees and chin on his clenched hands. He's waiting, the analog clock on the wall sounding the seconds before someone rushes in his room to announce what decision has been made and, as he waits, he remembers.

He thinks back to that day.

Death.

Death had been in the air, along with smoke and ash, and it had clung to Clint like a second skin long after he'd returned to HQ. He still remembers it, can still taste it on his tongue even after a month. Just like he can still remember the destruction.

Can still see the charred remains of what had once been a beautiful city.

He remembers having to trot carefully over rubble and debris, while listening. Straining to hear any sounds of life but so far into the disaster zone, basically at the center of it all, he had heard none. He had known, of course, that the chances of finding someone alive had been extremely unlikely.

Still he moved on, careful not to trip and get a face full of ash as he made his way further in to the wreckage.

He still not sure what he was looking for as he made his way deeper than any other agent. Or what had driven him to go so far into the destroyed city. Or why S.H.I.E.L.D. had even shipped them out there for a simple fire to begin with.

Well, not simple actually.

Seattle, Washington was gone.

Wiped off the face of the earth along with most of it's population. Only the lucky few had managed to get out before the fire had engulfed the city in less than two hour after it broke out.

Sure, a fire spreading that fast was surprising, maybe even a little suspicious but Clint wasn't sure what they were expecting him to find when they had sent him in that day. Especially since a fire that large had surely wiped out all possible evidence.

There was nothing but ash and melted metal, plastic, and glass left by the time Clint had arrived. Everywhere he looked, it was all he saw, though he'd been sure that if he had shifted through the rubble he probably would have found a few bones as well.

He didn't though, just kept walking until he reached what HQ deemed to be ground zero.

That's when he saw her, _them_.

Two girls.

One bare, naked as the day she was born. She'd been curled into a ball, unconscious but not burned. Even covered in ash from head to toe—it's a miracle he could tell her apart from the debris—Clint could tell as much.

The other was sprawled on the floor, also unconscious and—to his surprise—drenched in water. She'd looked like a drowned cat, white hair and clothes plastered to her face, but she was alive.

They're both were and for a long second Clint could do nothing more than stare before a voice coming from his earpiece broke him out of his shock.

" _Barton, report."_

"Coulson…you're not going to believe what I just found," Clint had muttered, eyes flicking from girl to girl before he'd stripped off his coat and laid it over the naked one.

And it was as he did that he saw it, stepped on it really.

After years in his line of work the sound of his boots on blood is familiar, ingrained—burned into his memory time and time again—and it had sent him into a flurry instantly. He didn't even stop to wonder how it'd been possible that the blood hadn't dried up from the heat of the fire as he'd rolled the girl on to her back.

There was blood and a lot of it.

What had happened next had been a rushed, chaotic mess as Clint had called for immediate medical assistance and desperately tried to keep the girl from bleeding out more than she had already had. He hadn't been sure if she would make it until they reached the Helicarrier, none of them had been, but she had.

Only to blow up a Surgical room and scare them all to death.

It had only been because of some _"persuasion techniques"_ that Clint had managed to get the doctors and nurses to agree to continue treating her.

He'd worked his ass off to keep her alive during the time it took the Evac. Team to reach them and he wasn't going to let his efforts go to waste just because some weenies were scared to get burned.

He figures that learning she'd been an orphan too had only been the final nail in the coffin. Though it really could have been seeing her broken and bleeding that did it. That made him decide that he wasn't going to let her die.

He knew she wasn't human the second he'd laid eyes on her, of course. Only an idiot would miss the fact that she'd survived a wide spread fire without so much as a burn or smoke inhalation. Just like he knew that The Council would want her dead.

Honestly, the only real question was, _'what is she?'_

And that answer isn't something he'd been too worried about because, no matter what she was, he was rooting for her to make it through her injuries.

Just like he rooted for Thor to make it to his hammer.

And for Natasha to change her life.

And just like he's now rooting for Loki to wake up.

 _(Even if he still thinks the guy's an ass who owes him a serious apology he probably won't give.)_

Yeah, he'll admit it.

He's got a thing for taking in strays, but, hey, they always turn out to be assets, so can you really blame him?

 _ **Random Hall**_

 _ **Helicarrier**_

 _ **2:27 pm**_

 _ **Tony**_

He walks down a long empty hall with only the sound of his own footsteps as company. He doesn't even remember leaving the room, doesn't remember storming out in a desperate attempt to find a way to blow off steam after Phil had gone silent and didn't look like he had anything more to say about _God's Haven Orphanage._

Just thinking the name makes his blood boil.

His fingers twitch at his side, itching to just _grab_ a screwdriver or a wrench and begin tinkering away but he can't. At least not in the Helicarrier because none of his supplies or tools are here and Fury's forbidden him from messing with anything on the ship after the last attempt turned a perfectly good toaster into a raging, psycho robot that had try to kill them—well, that tried to kill Steve.

He was just trying to make it into a voice command one like the one he has at home. He didn't mean for it to go all _Decepticon_ on him. And so what if the thing had nearly gnawed Cap's arm off, it's not like Steve had to wait a painfully long time for it to heal.

The big baby has super healing and had no right to continuously guilt trip Tony by flashing his bandage covered arm when his wounds had healed the second he'd gotten them.

His hand twitches at his side again and he groans as he runs it through his hair in frustration but not because of the insane, toaster robot that he secretly stashed away in his room instead of destroying like Fury had demanded. (Toastie is his robot, god damnnit, and he's not going to end him just because he's taken a bite—or three—out of Steve. The little guy had just been hungry and had settled down almost as soon as Tony had thrown a few bolts his way when he realize the thing kept chewing on anything he could grab.)

No, his thoughts are on the fire starter whose fate rests in the hands of The Council. The very same assholes who thought launching a nuke into New York City had been the only way to save the world from Loki's invasion. Sure, the nuke did help but they could have aimed it at the portal to begin with, not the damn city.

 _What a load of dumbasses._

He thinks of the poor girl that suffered a life more horrible than he had imagined. You hear about children in the system and the things the go through all the time—starvation and abuse—but you never have to face them. Never have to look one in the eye and tell them, ' _You've gone through some fucked up things and while we'd like to help you, you really are more trouble than your worth so instead of trying to fix you, we're going to put you down like a rabid dog.'_

That's fucked up on levels even Tony hadn't crossed and it pisses him off. Makes his blood boil and hands twitch with the want—the _need_ to throttle some sense into someone. He can't do that of course, so instead he stomps down the halls as he imagines all the ways he can ruin The Council's lives—if he only knew who they are.

But this is one of the few things he doesn't know so all he can do is fume and cruse because even he—who indirectly had the hand in killing thousands of innocent men, women, _and_ children with his hyped up super missiles and the like—had not been treated like that.

Yeah, not even Tony—alcoholic, selfish, asshole Tony—had been told he'd been too much trouble than he'd been worth. No, the group had stuck with him, had been there to distract him when the withdrawals from alcohol threatened to break him. _Pepper_ —sweet, too good for him, Pepper—had stayed by his side and helped him piece the shambles of his life back together and helped him turn himself into an all around better person.

So why couldn't they do that for her?

 _Why shouldn't he do that for her?_

Wheels are turning in his head, planning and calculating and, before he knows it, he's standing in Bruce's Lab, in front of the computer with his fingers already tapping away at the screen. Hacking into the Helicarrier's main frame and scouring through the files with only one thought in his mind.

 _"Who is Ember Morales and how can I save her?"_

What he finds isn't pretty.

 _ **ICU**_

 _ **Helicarrier**_

 _ **2:37 pm**_

 _ **Most of the Avengers**_

"How did Ember get out?" Bruce asks, sounding more than a little dazed as he collapses into the nearest chair. It's only him and Phil and Natasha now, Steve having stormed out shortly after Tony. Thor's there too but Bruce highly doubts the distraught Asgardian has paid attention to a word they've said. "How did she _survive_?"

"They kept her for her looks," Phil says, fists clenching as anger courses through his veins. "Her eyes, specifically. Gray eyes are rare and I'm sure they would have brought in a pretty penny, if anyone actually managed to keep her that is. She was repeatedly returned on the grounds that the Orphanage had sold the adopters a _demon_ that could set things on fire."

"A demon," Bruce scoffs but cuts off the noise abruptly when a sudden thought hits him. "Why doesn't the other one have this kind of background?" he asks, head tilted to the side and eyes on Phil as he waits for an answer. "There's so much trouble and mystery revolving around Ember but we haven't heard a word on the one with the white hair."

"That's because Marina doesn't kill people," Natasha snaps and Bruce holds up his hands when it looks like the assassin might make a lunge for him. "Marina isn't dangerous. She won't explode and take everyone down with her if she gets a little upset."

"But, from what little I've managed to see when I'm not busy with Loki, the water and fire are the same," Bruce says, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Well, they react in the same manner and are surprisingly similar to the way Gamma reacts in me. Hell, it's like they were injected with Super Soldier Serum and exposed to _something_ that made them absorb fire and water into their bodies. The only thing that actually keeps me from saying Super Soldier Serum has anything to with this is that it's not their _blood cells_ thatleak water or fire at the slightest provocation."

"Super Soldier Serum? What does that have anything to do with this?" Phil asks, curious to hear the answer even though he's not sure if he'll understand a word of it if Bruce nerds out and use big, scientific words. "I thought this was all about Gamma and it transforming your cells."

"Ah, but it's not," Bruce says a school teacher like tone coming to his voice as he begins his impromptu lecture. "Gamma didn't transform my cells. The Super Soldier Serum did, it made my cells strong enough to absorb the Gamma and lock it away and so that I wouldn't die from over exposure to Gamma radiation. It still leaks out of them when exposed to over-stimulation, of course. Though the Gamma leaking out is what turns my blood cells—and by result, me—green."

"You have Super Soldier Serum in you?" Phil asks, giving him a curious look and Bruce nods as he debates over launching into a condensed story of how it all happened. They do need the distraction.

"Yeah, I do," he says and Bruce ignores the awed look on Phil's face as he continues. He really doesn't need Phil Hero Worshipping him like he does with Steve. "We were trying to recreate Captain America, after all. Some Scientists and I actually managed to fabricate a replica of the Serum, not as strong but strong enough to do what we needed it to do and I injected it into myself. Everything was okay and it probably would have worked out but when I went under the ray instead of being exposed to Vita Radiation, I received Gamma. Thus the Super Soldier Serum caused my cells to absorb the rays. Much the same as Steve but, because they were Gamma—dangerous and lethal—and not Vita, my cells found a way to lock them away so I wouldn't die. The fact that I even survived is a miracle.

"What Gamma did to me was weird, unexpected, and unlikely to happen again in the same way. And don't you dare say a word about Abomination because he isn't even close to being a replica of me," Bruce snarls when he sees Natasha gearing up to argue.

"But he _can_ turn back into a human," Natasha points out as she finally takes a seat, tucking her feet under her as she sits. She's interested in the conversation now that it has moved away from deciding if they should stand up for Ember. "Fury keeps him chained in containment box 65 on the orders of The Council."

"But he's not like _me_ ," Bruce says, stressing the importance of them realizing the he and Abomination are not the same. "But in a way he is," Bruce adds and when all he gets is blank stares he huffs in annoyance. "Okay, Blonsky and I are like Ember and Marina. Ember has fire in her veins and Marina has water. Whereas I have a weak version of the Super Soldier Serum and Gamma in my blood, Blonsky has the _Original_ Super Soldier Serum in his blood, Gamma Rays, and my blood _._ Not just Gamma Rays, but _my blood_ , which contains more than enough Gamma to transform him as it is.

"That's what makes it almost impossible from him to come down from a hulk out. He has so much Gamma in him along with the strongest batch of Super Soldier Serum ever created," Bruce says, nervously chewing on his lip as he thinks about the destruction and chaos the man had caused in an effort to become just like him. "So ultimately Blonsky is a more dangerous version of me. But that's beside the point," Bruce says as he realizes that they've gotten way off topic. "My hulks outs are similar to Ember's explosions in the sense that they—the fire and Gamma—leak out—me from my cells and her from her skin—when provoked. Otherwise we're simply human," Bruce says, satisfied that he's managed to say all that he's had to say.

Silence reigns around the room, it's occupants not sure what to say to that but it makes sense to them. Phil understands the point that Bruce is trying to make and he knows that if he really is going to attempt something to keep Ember alive then Bruce will be on his side.

Natasha understands what Bruce is saying too but that's about it. She isn't willing to risk going against The Council or Fury to keep Ember alive. Don't get her wrong, she has nothing against the girl and will, begrudgingly, admit that she's warming up to Marina and doesn't wish the pain of losing her best friend on her but she can't do this. Not when Ember can kill them all in matter of seconds if they're not careful.

She's just not willing to risk her family like that, not when she's only just got them.

 _ **Another Random Hallway**_

 _ **Helicarrier**_

 _ **2:38 pm**_

 _ **Steve**_

The chills haven't left him; they continue to slither up and down his back as he storms down the hall. Agents scatter as he approaches, plastering themselves to the walls as the hulking beast of tightly coiled muscles that they all know as Steve Rogers all but barrels down the halls.

Nobody dares to stop him, all slightly fearing what grabbing his attention might cause so they watch him go with wide eyes and thundering hearts.

Cap can be truly scary when he's mad.

Steve, for his part, pays little attention to the people he's scaring half to death as he makes his way down the halls and towards the gym. His mind's only on one thing at the moment, getting to a punching bag and once he's finally there he doesn't bother to tape up.

He just lets go.

Settles into comfortable rhythm as he envisions the faces of all his enemies—few as they may be—with every hit he lands. He's pissed, overly so, because he shudders to think that these are the people he gave up everything for.

 _Heinz Kruger_

His pace picks up, the quiet _thump, thump, thump_ of his fist meeting the bag the only sound in the room besides his steady breaths as he sees the bastard's smug face in his mind.

That he fought for people who didn't think twice about drowning an innocent soul. For greedy orphanage owners who saw selling the girls they were supposed to protect and house as another form of income. That he fought, lived, and _died_ for these kinds of people.

 _ArnimZola_

His knuckles ache but he doesn't back down. He keeps going, fist flying and smashing into the bag even as it begins to tear.

He's not stupid, nor naïve. He knows not everyone can be a saint but to hear this magnitude of evil was going on his home while he fought for _their_ lives. While he spent days leading battle after battle; fighting, strategizing, and desperately trying to keep the Nazis from winning so that they wouldn't fulfill their plans of destroying America.

 _Johann Schmidt._

His knuckles split, his breathes comes out in ragged pants.

He saved these people! Barreled into the frozen Arctic Ocean in a Hydra Bomber so that they could live. He gave it all up—his life, his home, Peggy, _everything—_ for them and this is how he's repaid, with the death of presumably hundreds of children.

 _Maybe he should have just let the bombs hit._

No.

The bag crashes in a rip, torn heap on the floor, as it explodes. Sending sand and grains into the air as Steve stands there, panting, knuckles split. He stares at the bag for a long time, as if trying to figure out exactly why the bag has exploded before he spins on his heel and marches out of the room.

 _This isn't him._

He makes his way back down the hall, still furious but slightly more subdued, as he storms his way to Bruce's lab intent on finding some bandages. He doesn't need them, he knows, his knuckles have probably already stitch themselves back together, but it's something to do.

Something to distract himself with before he ends up punching something or _someone._

He makes it to Bruce's lad without incident though he's a little annoyed to find Tony already there. The other man is completely enthralled with whatever he's reading on those floating screen that he doesn't realize Steve has joined him till the Steve taps on the screen from the other side.

Tony rears back, looking for all the world like he's just been caught with hand in a cookie jar that Steve can't help but narrow his eyes at the man.

"Find something interesting to read?" Steve asks even as Tony fingers fly across the screen as soon as he's over his shock in an attempt to hide whatever he's reading. "Please tell me those aren't classified," Steve says even though he's pretty sure they are.

Tony never reads anything unless he's not supposed too—or he's trying to show off.

"Okay, then," Tony says as he hides the last files and turns the screen off. "They're not classified," he pipes as he pushes away from the screen and gives Steve the most innocent look he can manage, complete with wide eyes and batting lashes.

He's not buying it of course but he simply rolls his eyes and moves to the sink to rinse the blood from his hands. Tony fidgets in his spot, obviously waiting for him to leave so he can get back to his reading so Steve decides to take his time, cleaning under his nails and drying his hands painfully slow.

"So that was something, wasn't it?" Steve asks simply for the purpose of waiting Tony out. He's knows the man will spill soon enough without him having to drag it out of him. Tony's just like that, can never seem to keep his mouth shut and it had annoyed Steve at first. Until he realized that Tony really does care—a man wouldn't have flown a nuke into space if he didn't—he just has no brain to mouth filter at times.

That and the incredible knack of knowing just exactly where your buttons are and how to push them.

"Yeah," Tony mutters, eyes flicking to the computer briefly and when Steve sees it he has to fight back a smirk. Silence reigns around the room after that and when it goes on for just a tad too long Steve can't fight back the smirk anymore.

"Just tell me already."

"Nobody knows where she came from," Tony blurts out as he dives back to the computer and pulls up all the files again. "There's _nothing._ Her birth certificate is _blank_! Not even Fury can pinpoint exactly where she came from, especially since the Orphanage went up in smoke before he could find some way to get her file. There is literally nothing on who she is, where she came from, who her parents were, or where she was even born. It's like she just appeared out of thin air one day and got onto S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar because she burned the Orphanage down."

"She burnt it down?"

"Left nothing but ash," Tony says as he pulls up a newspaper clipping onto the screen and points at it. " _Everyone_ died, the nurses and children and director and security and caretakers. She took them all out in the middle of the night so nobody realized the place was burning until it was too late."

This does nothing but fan the already burning flame of anger in Steve's stomach as he reads through the newspaper clipping himself. Sure, the rat bastard of an owner deserved it but the children didn't. Especially not when they'd already suffered enough throughout their life at it is.

To have gone through all of that only to burn in their beds with no hope of survival.

Sure, you could argue that Ember had no control over it but he does not and will never condone the killing of innocents. Accidental or not. His fist clench at his sides in white hot anger but Tony doesn't noticed, too enthralled with telling Steve what he found to realize that the man is only getting angrier.

"It's so weird, you know," Tony says as he begins to shuffles through pictures of Ember apparently taken without the girl's knowledge if the fact that she never once looks into the camera is anything to go on. "We live in a world where your whereabouts are known from the second you're born. Where there's some invisible number tattooed onto your skin and entered into a giant computer that will track you for the rest of your life before you can even open your eyes but not for Ember.

"The government wasn't aware of her existence until she burned down that orphanage and while Fury may guess that she's been there since birth, he doesn't really know," Tony says, still shuffling to pictures while Steve desperately tries to get his emotion under control. He's only half listening to Tony at this point. "She could have come from anywhere."

There's wonder in his voice and Steve gets the feeling that if they're not careful Tony's imagination might just get the best of the man. Not that Steve will blame him if it does, not when they've found out little more than a year ago that Aliens do in fact existed and two of them have joined there little, pieced-together family.

"What if she's an alien?" Tony asks as he looks up at Steve with eyes that scream _, 'eureka!'_ "What if she crash landed here after the destruction of her planet and now she's the sole survivor of a distant Alien race?"

"Umm, did you get that from a movie?" Steve asks because this sounds vaguely familiar and he could swear it was the plot of some movie the gang had forced him to watch awhile ago. A movie about an overpowered alien, in tights, with no idea of how to properly wear his underwear.

The look on Tony face shouts offense and murder before he shakes his head while muttering under his breath about _'gramps'_ and _'Capsicles'_ and _'being hip'_ as he turns back to the computer _._

"Never mind," Tony mutters pout on his lips as he goes back to his reading, combing through the files for every pieces of information he can get. Steve doesn't bother him after that, lets him getting his reading done in peace as he makes his way to the window overlooking the loading dock with a shake of his head.

Never say Tony Stark doesn't have quite the imagination.

"Will you vote for her," Tony mutters from the computer but Steve doesn't turn to look at him. He keeps his gaze on the people below, watching them work. "Or against her?"

Steve doesn't say anything, just continues to stand in front of the widow and that's answer enough for Tony who shuts the computer down for the last time, wiping the files clean off the hard drive along with any evidence of his illegal activity, and makes his way towards the door.

"She had no control over it," he says at the last second, pausing at the door frame just long enough for Steve to respond before leaving the room completely.

"Doesn't make her any less dangerous."


End file.
